The War in the Heart
by Cerulean1
Summary: Killers are not made overnight.  They do not spring fully grown from the soil.  They are created, molded.  And they are not always caught.
1. Prologue: Motes in the Sun

**A/N: My original intention had been to not publish any of this story until I had it entirely finished. I find, however, that not having a deadline-even a self imposed one-means my muse likes to take long naps. So, here is the prologue. It's deathly short, but the remaining chapters will not be quite so bad. On another note, I'd like to send my utmost thanks to my beta reader, who corrected all my he/she/it saids and awful comma usage. Much much obliged! Anyway, enjoy, and remember reveiws make me push up my deadline :-p**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, nor any other copyright or tradmarked item herein. They belong to their respective owners, and shall remain so until such time as said owners decide to sell them. I'm just borrowing them. I promise to put them back where I found them.**

* * *

><p>The door slammed against the cabin wall. Eight men, unnaturally quiet, stormed into the sparsely furnished room. They separated into pairs, searching, and then the silence was broken with a chorus of "clear" echoing throughout the cabin.<p>

The last pair of men moved quietly down the hallway, toward the second bedroom. Bright sunlight filtered through the dusty windows, the sun not yet to its zenith, but already the temperature inside was pushing ninety. An officer pushed open the door, crouched low as he moved into the room, weapon sweeping. He could hear the rest of his team and the FBI entering the house. They hadn't waited for his call. His partner rolled his eyes at him.

Not his problem if the perp was in this back room and bolted out of a window because of the noise. Of course, he'd have already bolted, but they could have at least had the decency to wait another thirty seconds.

His eyes swept the room, falling on them immediately, laying prone in a mess of sheets on the bed. The sun was directed like through a magnifying glass onto them. His first instinct had been to run to them, but training took over.

"I found someone!" he yelled, moving toward the bed.

They were bound, naked, and unconscious. Her hands were tucked under her chin, ropes tight around her elbows and wrists. His arms were around her, bound together over her stomach. Their legs were curled up together, as if they were simply asleep and spooning, but the rope tying them together had already left red bands where it rubbed against the skin of their shins.

He pulled out the paper with the picture of the people they were looking for, while his partner checked their vitals. He could see them breathing, shallow, the man's breath coming slightly unevenly. As his partner took the man's pulse, and the paramedics stormed into the room, the man opened his eyes. They rolled up into his head, and he closed them again.

He looked down at the paper, the poor quality fax still clear enough to confirm. These were who they had been looking for. The Jar of Hearts killer's latest victims.

The paramedics didn't look optimistic as they moved the couple onto stretchers. He leaned against he wall, knowing that had they been here as long as suspected they should be dead already, and only luck still had them breathing.

He followed the paramedics through the house, joining the rest of his team in the front room. The forensics guys were already starting on the other end of the house, the whole thing seeming to be over before it began.

As the paramedics rolled the man out of the house on his stretcher he heard him whisper,

"Bones."


	2. Chapter 1: Bodies in the Dirt

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

Booth lifted the crime scene tape for her as she snapped on her rubber gloves. Summer had hit early this year, and this tiny corner of Maryland was expected to hit record highs today. This early in the morning, however, it was still comfortable, and the smell of the sea drifted over the crime scene. FBI forensics were already poking around, the bright yellow construction equipment surrounded by busy agents collecting evidence. The body was laid out at the bottom of a pile of sand and dirt, the forensics team keeping an unmarked perimeter around it.

She moved toward the body purposefully, kneeling down beside it. She made a note of position; the body had slid down the mound of earth, landing on its back by the tire of the dump truck. Forensics was already going through the half-empty bed of the truck.

"Victim's female, approximately 30 to 35." She pulled back a piece of the remaining muscle and flesh, looking at the ribs. Her eyes followed the rest of the body down, nothing jumping out at her. "No obvious cause of death. There's bits of rope mostly decayed on her wrists. I won't be able to tell if it was postmortem until we get the body back to the Jeffersonian."

She stood up, stepping around the body. The shout came just as she was pulling off her gloves.

"We have another one!" The tech up in the bed of the truck stuck his head up. "Dr. Brennan? This one's in pieces." He hopped out of the truck bed, knowing better than to stay near the body and risk her saying he'd contaminated it.

With a single swing, she was in the truck bed, oblivious to the grimace her partner shot her as she did. She waded through the remaining dirt in the truck bed to the skull just barely visible near the back. This body wasn't in pieces, she discovered as she moved over the mound of dirt and drew close to the body. Only the victim's arm was separated from the rest of the skeleton. Muscles held this body as surely as they had the other. She heard Booth climb up behind her.

"Male, late 30s, early 40s," she preempted him. "His legs are bound. I'll need the entire contents of the truck taken to the Jeffersonian. And everything around that body. Wait, there's something in the chest cavity."

She leaned closer, reaching under the victim's ribs and pulling out what had caught the sunlight. She held the mason jar up, turning it in the light. Whatever was inside was a swirl of different shades of red. She tilted the jar to the side, and the mass inside slid through the clear liquid. The light caught in the glass, making the whole thing glow for a fraction of a second. She brought it back down to face level, and took the evidence bag one of the techs brought her, carefully placing the jar inside.

"It's a human heart," she said, sealing the bag. "I can't be sure its the victim's." She swung down off the truck, ignoring Booth's pointed look as he followed. She moved back over to the other body, still holding the evidence bag. She squatted down beside it and tilted her head. "There is another one here." She traded the full bag for an empty and put the other mason jar into it.

"What the hell were you thinking, Bones?" Booth said through gritted teeth as they headed for his car.

"That I didn't see any obvious trauma to the ribs and sternum. Strange considering a large foreign object was lodged in the chest cavity." She glanced at him, wondering why he sounded so angry. He'd never been phased by oddities at a crime scene before.

"Jumping off that dump truck. You have more to think about than just yourself anymore."

She made the connection, and shook her head. "Now is neither the time, nor the place, Booth. However, there was nothing to worry about. I am being careful." She turned to face him before sliding into the passenger seat, but he was already behind the wheel.

Booth was quiet as they followed the van away from the crime scene. He kept watching Dr. Brennan out of the corner of his eye. She was speaking, about the case he thought, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't listening. The image of her slipping as she jumped off the truck, landing in the dirt under it, kept interrupting. She was surrounded by blood, covered in it, in his mind's eye. Nothing had changed; she was the same woman, and that terrified him.

* * *

><p>The telltale beep of the security post brought Mr. Bray to attention. He smiled as he saw Dr. Brennan climbing the steps, reattaching her badge.<p>

"Good morning, Dr. Brennan," he said with a grin, causing his companion to raise his head.

Dr. Hodgins smiled, removing another maggot from the body. "'Morning Dr. B. Two for one special, with a side of _Phaenicia sericata_." He held up the green-bottle fly maggot, staring at it lovingly. "The bodies were moved, between 24 and 48 hours after death." He put the maggot in a glass vial that already had three or four of its brethren in it.

Ignoring the enraptured bug doctor, Dr. Brennan approached her intern, "What have you found, Mr. Bray?"

He cataloged the injuries, what she'd already seen, all that was visible with the bits of dirt and flesh still sticking to the bone. "And there is this, on the scapula of the female victim." He pulled the electronic magnifying glass over the area, and she walked to the screen, tilting her head to see what Wendell had found.

"That wasn't caused postmortem," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else in the room. "She was bound, elbows and wrists together, under the chin?" She mimicked as she spoke. "It would have sprained the ligaments across her back." Looking up, she turned to Mr. Bray. "Was there similar damage to the male victim?"

"No, Dr. Brennan." He paused, then amended, "Not that I can see without cleaning the bones."

"Very good, Mr Bray. Is Angela working on the facial reconstruction?" She was already moving away from the table, confident in the grad student's work, even if she didn't show it.

"Should be, unless the nursery called to have her feed Michael," Hodgins answered without looking up from the microscope.

Brennan found Angela in her office, though Michael wasn't in the Jeffersonian nursery. The six week old infant was wrapped against his mother's stomach in a sling, while Angela stood in front of her projection monitor watching the computer try and draw a match from missing persons to her sketch.

"Anything yet, Ange?" Brennan asked, walking up beside the artist.

"Not yet." She set the control board down on a stool, and removed the infant from the sling, handing him over to Brennan. "Go to Auntie Tempe, you're getting heavy, little man. You know how long these things take."

As she had done nearly everyday since Angela had returned to work, deaf to all her protests. Dr. Brennan cradled Michael in her arm as she moved closer to the screen. Angela's sketches showed both victims smiling, the woman with a delicate Roman nose and long curls, the man more rugged, broader and with darker hair. Almost identical to what Brennan herself had seen in the structure of the skull, if more beautifully rendered than she'd ever be able to do.

"He is getting quite big, isn't he?" she asked, shifting the boy to her other arm. "I thought you were keeping him at the nursery?" She followed Angela to the sofa, handing the baby back to his mother.

"That was the plan, but he's still just so small. Cam offered to extend my maternity leave another few weeks when I came to her this morning. This, however, is a temporary solution until this case is solved. Once it's done, hopefully he'll be big enough." She smiled at her friend, who seemed more than willing to accept why she wanted her son near her, "Or I'll have given up on breastfeeding directly. What about you?" she asked, nodding toward Brennan's still smooth stomach. "Are they going to take over the nursery and start a 'nursery crime' unit over in the main building?"

Brennan gave her friend a blank look, unaware of how her hand had moved to cover her stomach and the unborn child growing there. She was saved from answering (or telling her best friend to keep her voice down, as no one knew yet) by a beep from the computer. Michael was quickly wrapped back up into the sling, and they went to see what the computer found.

"We have an ID on the woman," Angela said, reading off the screen, "Bethany Holms, 36, reported missing by her roommate three weeks ago." A second beep, and a new screen popped up, "And George Newton, 41" she paused, sighing, "her fiance. They were a cute couple." Indeed, the picture in the missing persons file was the same for both, the two people leaning against each other, smiling. Angela tried very hard not to think about the bones just a few rooms over, probably having the remains of their soft tissue being boiled off their bones. Intellectually, she knew her son would never remember this. She knew that he was as safe, if not safer, in her office than anywhere else she could keep him. Suddenly, however, she just wanted him out of the lab. She wanted him to be where death could not touch him. She shivered, and murmured, "I'm going to take him back to the nursery. I have a few bottles of breast-milk I can give them for the next feeding."

Dr. Brennan was left looking at the image on the screen, not noticing Angela's sudden departure. The next steps could begin. Confirmation of identity, through dental records, and then she'd join Booth to go talk to the roommate. She wondered, in a vague offhanded way, if she should worry that having a case again excited her.

* * *

><p>The two story townhouse was indistinguishable from those around it. Booth rapped his knuckles against the door, and settled back on his heels.<p>

"Bethany Holms worked from home, some sort of IT business. She lost her house when the housing market crashed so she moved in here with Lisa Gray about two years ago." Anything else he was going to say was interrupted by the door opening.

"Can I help you?" asked the young blond woman who answered the door.

"I'm Special Agent Booth, with the FBI, this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. Are you Lisa Gray?"

"Yes. What is this about? Have you found Beth and George? They didn't just run off to Vegas, did they? I knew they wouldn't!" She stepped back to let them into the house.

The living room was decorated in bright primaries, mainly reds and yellows, and was so clean as to appear staged. Brennan walked around behind the leather sofa, while Booth sat down, Lisa sitting on the chair across from him. There weren't any pictures of the residents on the walls, but there were a number of awards on the mantel. She didn't read them, just made a note to mention them to Booth, before joining him on the sofa.

"I knew they hadn't just packed up and decided to move across the country. No one would believe me. They just kept telling me that I was imagining things. It was a full week before they'd take me seriously." She ran a hand through her hair, short, spiky and clearly bleached. "I kept hoping they'd just got lost in the woods or something. It's not fair."

"They had gone camping? Before they disappeared?" Booth asked, watching the young woman carefully.

"Yeah. They'd gone for the weekend, up to Sky Meadows. They were planning on hiking out, camping rough. But when they weren't home by Monday- Beth had to set up the network for a company in Springerville, and she was supposed to be there at eight on Monday. She'd never be late, not on something that big." Lisa sighed, biting her lip. "No one believed me. If I'd...if I'd pressed do you think-?" She left the question unfinished, but her meaning was clear.

"Early tests show that the body-" Booth laid a hand on Brennan's knee, and she bowed her head.

"There was nothing more you could have done," Booth said instead. "You did all you could."

The conversation turned to formalities. Pictures of the deceased, a look at her room, her office. Nothing stood out. She was organized, almost to a fault. She'd won a number of local service awards, more than just those Brennan had seen downstairs. There was nothing out of place, nothing to help point them in the right direction.

In the car, Booth sighed, banging his head against the back of the seat. "George Newton lived alone just up the street here. I've got some guys asking around. Maybe they'll pick something up. Did Hodgins find anything that suggested they were up near the State Park?"

"No, nothing. The bodies were moved within the first two days of decomp. He hasn't found any particulates that determine location, yet." They pulled away from the row of homes, heading back toward D.C.

"Let's head back, then. I'll call locals in that area, and we can head out there this afternoon. Just- don't go doing what you did this morning."

"I'm sorry?" She turned to face him, but he was looking out at the road, hands clenched tightly on the wheel.

"Don't go jumping off construction equipment, Bones. You have to be careful."

She rolled her eyes at him, "I doubt I'll be climbing on construction equipment at the camp ground, Booth."

"You know what I mean..." he trailed off. He didn't want to start a fight, but there was more to this – it wouldn't be just a couple of broken bones she'd have to worry about.

"I assure you, Booth, I am taking all possible precautions. Exiting a dump truck, however, will not hurt the embryo. I would not have fallen."

He didn't respond, just shook his head. He knew when it was better to let her have the last word.

* * *

><p>Pictures taken.<p>

X-ray done.

External exam.

Camille Saroyan stood over the autopsy table looking down at the two mason jars that seemed to be staring back at her. Protocol had been followed, and it was time to 'crack them babies open' as Hodgins had said when he walked past. She set aside one, labeled H-55287, for the male victim, and pulled the other, H-55288, closer. She double checked her mask, then twisted the lid off the jar.

She paused, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Sliding over an exam tray she poured the contents out, the heart making a squishing 'glurp' sound as it passed the rim of the jar. Under her mask she wrinkled her nose at the sound, and then slid the exam tray back to its original position. She swabbed the inside of the jar, inspected the lid, the seal. Sometimes she missed the sound of the tape recorder as she made these exams. The digital recorders were so silent she often felt like she was speaking to herself, felt that anyone walking by would think she was crazy.

Mr. Bray walked in, looking like he was about to speak. Dr. Saroyan motioned to the box of masks by the door. Fool me twice, she thought, as he grabbed it and held it to his mouth.

"Is that the victim's heart?" he asked, walking up to the table.

"Not sure yet. Was there something you needed, Mr. Bray?"

"No. Not really. The bones aren't done in the stew pot." He hovered, watching as she cut tissue samples from the muscle.

"Then why are you here?"

"Oh! Oh, I thought you might have something for me. Dr. Brennan isn't back yet."

She gave him a sickly sort of smile, before realizing he couldn't see it. "No, Mr. Bray. Nothing yet. The heart does seem in strangely good shape. It doesn't have the look of something preserved in formaldehyde. Perhaps _polyethylene glycol_. We might be able to track that." She looked up at him, thoughtful. "You can do something for me Mr. Bray." She filled a glass vial with the liquid solution from the jar, and handed that, and the tissue samples, to him. "Take those to Dr. Hodgins. See what he can make of them."

"Of course, Dr. Saroyan."

Wendell moved easily through the lab, finding Hodgins curled up around his microscope. He set the samples he'd been given down on the desk, and moved closer. Hodgins didn't look up, adjusting the focus on the microscope and apparently unaware of the intern's presence. Wendell almost jumped when he spoke.

"What do you have there, man? Something slimy?"

"Dr. Saroyan wanted you to take a look at some of the samples from the mason jar. I guess the tissue held up better than it should have. What's that?" He nodded toward the microscope, grinning to himself when he remembered that Hodgins had his eyes plastered to the machine and couldn't see him.

"_Calamagrostis canadensis_, a reed grass found in the mountainous regions of Virginia. I also found evidence of _Sanguinaria canadensis_, native to Maine, and _Trifolium stoloniferum_, which is extinct in the U.S. except in parts of rural Ohio." He leaned back in his chair, picking up the vial of liquid. "I'll get this into the mass spec, see what it comes up with. But, if Booth knows where the victims were, we can track where the killer was."

Left with nothing to do once again, Mr. Bray moved deeper into Hodgins' office, toward the tank in the back where the bones were being cleaned. It wasn't very often than both tanks were full, and it was depressing to think that they were now. He checked on their progress, and knew he still had a few hours to wait before he could move them into the bone room. Which meant his only option to keep himself occupied was "intern work". With a sigh, he wandered out into main lab, grabbing a pair of gloves as he went. It was time to clean the equipment and run a chemical refill check.

He really couldn't wait for the bones to be done.

**Author's note: The next chapter is finished, I'm just working on a few minor changes. Look for it within the next week!**


	3. Chapter 2: Heart of the Matter

**Here's the next chapter! And send your thanks to my beta for the Hodgins/Booth scene - it was her idea, and it worked out so well! Questions, comments and suggestions are always welcome. Cheers!**

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><p>With the door to Booth's office closed, Brennan never really noticed the noise of the bull pen outside. She sat across from his desk, scanning through the information her team had sent her. Booth was down the hall, checking in with his men to find out what they had found at George Newton's place. The evidence that they had been in northern Virginia right around time of death was encouraging, a place to start. The plant matter from Maine and Ohio would hopefully narrow the field of suspects and not widen it.<p>

What Mr. Bray had sent her, however, was confusing. Her phone screen was simply too small to get a good look at what he had found once the bones were cleaned, and she debated simply leaving and heading to the lab without informing Booth.

She was getting up to do just that, when he walked into his office.

"Mr. Newton was a well liked, funny, have-a-beer-with-his-buddies-on-Friday sort of guy. Went camping almost every weekend, either with his friends or with Bethany Holms. All his neighbors liked him. His home was spotless. They're going over his and Bethany's financials, but I don't think we're going to find anything."

"Hodgins found evidence that either the victim or the killer was in northern Virginia, as well as western Maine and central Ohio."

"I think we can assume that it has to be the killer. We know Bethany and George weren't in Maine or Ohio recently. Does Hodgins have a time frame?"

"No, all the samples came from the rope. There's no way to tell when they showed up. Mr. Bray found something. I'll be at the lab the rest of the afternoon if you get the information from Park Services."

He slid into the chair behind his desk, flashing her a smile and a wave. "Hopefully soon. Sometimes I think it's easier to get stuff out of my boss than it is Virginia Parks and Recreation. Let me know what you find."

There was a time when she drew attention walking through the Hoover building. There was a time when she didn't notice it. Now, she noticed the lack of attention. She was a fixture here as surely as Booth was in her lab. Waiting for the elevator, watching everyone not watch her, she felt strange. She didn't believe in her gut. If logic and reason...and evidence...didn't precede a conclusion then it simply was not a conclusion. However, thinking of how no one even looked twice as she'd left the building, how she'd left the FBI offices as easily as she entered the Jeffersonian, she felt as if something was off. There was something that, Booth would say, "didn't sit right" with her. It had nothing to do with the agents that had seen her as just Booth's partner walking by; it had nothing to do with the cheery way the security guard outside the lab had greeted her. There was no reason for her unease, and yet it grew as she approached Mr. Bray in the bone room.

"Show me what you have, Mr. Bray. The images you sent weren't clear." She snapped on the latex gloves, and circled the table.

"It's on the fifth and sixth ribs, and along the sternum, here." He picked up the bone in question, and handed it to Dr. Brennan. "It's visible to the naked eye when you know it's there. A piece of the bone appears to have been shaved away. It's the same on the ribs. And on both victims."

She put the sternum down, and looking at the flattened surface in conjuncture with the other affected bone. "I'm unaware of anything that can cause this sort of damage to bone. How much of the surface is missing?"

"It averages about a sixty-forth of an inch. Slightly more on the ribs. I couldn't find evidence of filing."

Dr. Brennan lifted the victims humerus, appearing to weigh it, "Does something feel different about this, Mr. Bray?"

He took the bone, and really felt it, looking with his hands, which his mother had always told him never to do. His brows knit together, something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "It's fairly light."

"Squeeze it," she replied, not watching him, but rather inspecting other bones on the table.

He did as instructed, and then bit back a yelp as the bone began to depress. He quickly put the bone back down, and took a half step away from the table. "What was that?"

"De-mineralization. And a severe lack of vitamin D. In which case, any sufficiently sharp object could shave off so little bone, and would leave very little trace. Get samples for Hodgins, and give the measurements for Angela to determine the size and shape of the weapon."

"Was this cause of death?" he asked, moving toward the tool tray to begin doing as she asked.

"The shaving was postmortem, Mr. Bray," she said, sounding very like she was speaking to a toddler who has asked the same question several times. "It's more likely starvation was cause of death. See if Dr. Hodgins has an updated time. Otherwise, we'll have to keep looking for cause."

She turned and left as quickly as she'd entered.

* * *

><p>Dr. Brennan headed for Hodgins' office. She needed a more accurate time of death, things did not add up anymore. She rounded the corner and Dr. Saroyan stuck her head out of the autopsy bay.<p>

"Dr. Brennan, a moment?"

"I need to speak with Hodgins. Our original time of death appears to be inaccurate." She didn't even pause as she breezed by.

"He's already working on it, Dr. Brennan. Now, if you don't mind…"

With a sigh, wanting nothing more than to get a correct time of death so she could stop this unease that had started following her earlier that day, Brennan turned around and followed Dr. Saroyan into the bay.

On the table, both hearts were laid out side by side. From a distance something seemed strange about them. She had never really worked much with flesh, had not studied the human body in detail except for its bones, but Dr. Brennan knew enough to know that what sat before her was not natural.

"They're molded," she said, leaning down slightly as she neared the table.

"An amalgam of silicon, pig and human tissue. I didn't even notice it until I started the full dissection." Dr. Saroyan put one of the two hearts back together, and suddenly a close inspection saw nothing terribly out of the ordinary. Everything added up, until you split the heart open. Inside the heart walls there was nothing. A solid mass of fake tissue, it looked like the inside of a solid rubber ball. There were no imperfections to it, no mold lines or holes. The detail that had gone into these had left Cam speechless at first. She'd thought she'd been seeing things until Hodgins had brought her the readings on the tissue samples.

"It should be traceable."

Dr. Saroyan closed her eyes a second before nodding to the anthropologist. "Except," she paused for a effect, but as always it was lost on this recipient, "silicon isn't a controlled substance. What was used in this can be purchased at any craft store. Angela is looking into it."

Dr. Brennan gave her a piercing look. She waited, as Booth had taught her, before stating the obvious, "Human tissue is a...controlled substance."

"While true, and the tissue is not the victims, there haven't been any local reports of tissue banks being robbed. The silicon degraded the tissue too much to get a full workup on the DNA. We can rule out, but not make a positive match."

Before Dr. Brennan could respond, Hodgins shuffled into the room. "The numbers still come up the same, Cam. I don't get it; the latest they died was Saturday."

"That's not possible Hodgins," Brennan said, making him jump, "both victims were healthy and very much alive on Thursday. The amount of bone degeneration present could not have been caused in only 48 hours."

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Hodgins handed Cam the folder he had brought, then turned and headed out again with a muttered, "I'll run them again, then!"

Dr. Brennan headed back out into the main lab. The feeling she'd had earlier, the unease that had settled over her when she had left for the lab hours before, was back. Everything seemed to be a dead end. Nothing was ever a dead end with her team. She didn't like it.

* * *

><p>Booth sauntered into the lab, nose buried in the report from the Virginia Parks and Rec people. They had nothing concrete. However, a car had been found Monday morning in a space registered for day use. It had been there all weekend according to the ranger at the desk he'd spoken to. And, it belonged to one George Newton. His nose firmly implanted in the folder, he didn't notice Hodgins and Angela whispering a few feet away. It wasn't until Hodgins came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder that he even realized there was anyone else there at all.<p>

"Hey, man," Hodgins said when Booth spun around at lightening speed, "I didn't mean to startle you. And, I really don't want to be doing this. Can we talk in my office?"

Booth rolled his eyes, but gestured for him to lead the way. Once inside, Hodgins turned and seemed unwilling to continue.

"Dude, out with it. Bones and I are headed to Sky Meadows, and it's a bit of a drive. What's up?" He looked at the bug doctor, his eyes narrowing. "Is everything ok with you and Angela?"

"What? No. Things are copacetic. Really. This is...shit, man, this isn't my idea. Angela said I should talk to you. She's worried, ya know. About Dr. B, and," he looked around, for anyone eaves dropping, "you know, the thing. Hell if she listened to a word I said nine months ago, but now I guess I'm on 'man-to-man' duty."

"Speak English, Hodgins." He was feeling mildly uncomfortable with where this was going.

"Angela thinks Dr. B's gonna start working too hard on this case. Like she used to, before..." Hodgins waved a hand in the air with a shrug, knowing Booth would be able to fill in the blanks.

"You married a smart, nosy woman, who needs to mind her own business. I'll see what I can do," he said with a sigh, "but you know Bones. She doesn't do anything just because I say so." Booth gave Hodgins a slap on the shoulder, and muttered, "Which is why we have to talk in code."

"'Kay, man. We're all just gunning for you guys, ya know? The two of you, it's been a long time coming. And...if you could just, you know, maybe see about letting the news out while you're at it? I got fifty riding on you two."

Booth scowled at him, "You do know that gambling is illegal in DC, right?"

"Yeah. Right. It totally wasn't a gamble, Fisher didn't even make me give a specific date. I got this in the bag." At Booth's continued scowl, he added, "And this was totally before Angela said a word to me." It didn't help his case.

"Alright. Just... It's really none of your business. At all. What Bones and I do – or do not do – is just between us. I get that Angela's concerned about her friend, but maybe she should talk to Bones. And not send you out to corner me?" He turned away, knowing that both Angela and Hodgins had only the best of intentions. He just wished that they'd turn those good intentions in a different direction.

* * *

><p>The park ranger sat behind his desk, feet up, a book open on his legs. He didn't even raise his head to look as Booth and Brennan approached.<p>

"I'm-" Booth began.

"It's $35 for the camping permit, and an additional ten if you plan to head out away from the planned camp sites. There is a half hour video on safety that is mandatory for all non-site camping. Cash or check only." The ranger grabbed a three-part form from atop the filing cabinet by his head and slid it across the desk.

"FBI," Booth tried again, "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. I called about George Newton. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

The ranger sat up suddenly, the book falling to the floor. "The mystery writer? I-" He saw the look on Booth's face and shook his head. "Yes. I don't recall the name, but we found a car by the trail head. It looked abandoned."

"So you said over the phone. These forms, you keep them for everyone who stays here?"

The ranger glanced at Dr. Brennan, standing over the scale model of the park, before looking back at Agent Booth. "Yes, the paperwork has to be filled out for every trip. I have," he paused, opening the filing cabinet and searching through it, "all the forms from that day." He handed a thin folder to Booth.

"Thank you. Do you recognize either of these people?" He traded his own folder, which had the driver's license photos for George and Bethany, for the one the ranger handed him. After a long moment, the ranger shook his head.

"I'm sorry, they don't look familiar." He handed the folder back, apologizing again as he did.

Booth nodded, and thanked him. He got directions to where the car was found before being moved to the local impound.

"According to the information inside, it should be fairly easy to track where George Newton and Bethany Holms set up camp, even when in the non-constructed areas, campers are required to mark their sites, so that they can be seen from the elevated ranger platforms."

"I'd agree," Booth said, handing over the folder the ranger had given him, "except that neither George Newton nor Bethany Holms signed in that weekend. Please tell me that plant thing Hodgins found was fairly uncommon."

As answer, Brennan pointed to the tall grasses growing along the side of the parking lot, and stretched away from it all the way to the tree line. Booth groaned, "Wonderful."

They made their way to the trail head where Newton's car was found, but it was a frequented area, and any evidence that might have been there was trampled under the feet of a hundred other campers. The sun began to set, casting long eerie shadows as they left. The drive out of the park left them both feeling empty. They had nothing. No suspects. No motive. Booth felt as if he was diving head first into a pool without finding out how deep it was first.

"I'll have the boys back in the office run the names of everyone who did check in with the rangers. Maybe there'll be something in there. They've pulled the car from impound already. At least then we can rule out a mad road trip to Ohio and Maine."

"Perhaps," Brennan responded. They sat silently for a moment, watching the trees pass them on either side. "Drop me by the lab. I want to see if Hodgins has finally modified time of death."

"So, you seriously think they starved to death?" Booth turned his head toward her. Even he saw the complication that would give to the time line.

"It is a possibility, but with proper hydration the body can live upwards of two weeks without food. To achieve the amount of vitamin loss observed in both victims' bones I would estimate at least a week without food prior to death. Hodgins' puts time of death around the Saturday after they went camping."

"Meaning Lisa is lying-"

"Unlikely given Bethany Holms was seen at work that Thursday."

"-or something affected Hodgins' bug magic."

Brennan nodded, sinking into her own thoughts. Usually things were starting to come together by now. Usually, they had something to go on. All they had now was contradictions.

* * *

><p>Dr. Brennan had found in the near ten weeks that she had been pregnant that being a walking talking incubator had severe drawbacks. Just mere months before, returning to the Jeffersonian after hours would not have been an issue, even at three or four in the morning. Though it was not yet eleven as Booth took the exit toward her apartment rather than the one for the Jeffersonian, she did not argue.<p>

Booth sat, poised for the outburst and demand to be taken back to the lab, until he pulled up outside her building. She blinked blearily, but said not a word as she got out of the car. He waited until she disappeared from sight before pulling away. He was halfway home when he decided to go back, his earlier conversation with Hodgins spinning through his head.

His first knock was tentative. She might have gone straight to bed, in which case he should leave and talk to her after the case was finished. With the way the case was stacking up currently that might be awhile. He second knock was firmer, almost desperate.

"Booth?" she mumbled, opening the door. She'd changed, but had not gone to bed. Her laptop sat open on the breakfast bar surrounded by a sea of Jeffersonian letterhead paperwork.

"We need to talk, Bones. And if we don't now, we won't. I know us, and I also know if I don't talk about this I'm going to give myself an ulcer." He stepped inside as she opened the door wider, his mind rehearsing the monologue he'd devised in the car.

"If it's about this morning, there really was nothing to worry about. The baby is fine," she said, heading back for her laptop. He took her by her arm, steering her to the sofa instead.

"It's not just that, Bones. It's late, and you're still up, working. If I hadn't brought you home, you'd be at the lab right now. You need to sleep." He sat beside her, and ran a hand through his hair. She was going to be pissed at him. He hoped he was prepared. "You just need to take care of yourself. I can't leave knowing that you could be up until dawn trying to figure this out."

"That's really none of your concern, Booth. While I don't see why my continuing to work is an issue, I would point out that I allowed you to bring me home, _against_ my earlier request. I understand you feel some outdated need to take care of me and this child, but I'm more than capable and I know my limits." She stood up, heading back to the laptop.

He pushed the anger that threatened to rise aside, pushed his prepared speech away with it. A year ago he'd have risen to this bait, either snapped back or completely backed down and walked away. That was how the past year had started, but when he'd learned of the baby he'd made a resolution to not let her get under his skin so easily.

"You didn't argue, Temperance," he said her name like a caress, though it had a strange cadence coming from his lips; It did the trick however, and she stopped and looked at him, "because you were too tired to come up with an argument. You were up before dawn this morning, you've stopped drinking coffee. You are, technically, running a mild fever-I've read all the books. You need to put work away until tomorrow, and go to bed. There are people working on this, right now. They need you at your best, and you won't be if you're too tired to even put up a fight when I ignore your commands on where to take you." He never let his voice rise, kept all the accusation from his tone. If she had taught him only one thing in their time together, it was how to appeal to her reason. "This case isn't going anywhere tonight. Go to bed, I'll pick you up in the morning, when you are rested and can put your full effort into helping me catch the son of a bitch who did this."

She looked ready to yell, to deny that she was even tired, that she wasn't doing her best work. Then her shoulders sagged and she nodded. He followed her into the bedroom, to make sure she actually got into bed. Only Angela and Hodgins knew about the baby, and until it became common knowledge Bones had laid an ultimatum about case work and his staying the night. He didn't mind, and he'd leave, but he'd make sure she was actually in bed before he did. She paused before climbing into bed.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt this pregnancy, Booth. I don't want-" He cut her off with a hug.

"I know, Bones. But just so you know, this _is_ my concern." He hadn't wanted to bring her words back up. They had stung and he'd effectively ignored them. Suddenly, however, he didn't want to leave them hanging. "It's as much my concern as it is yours. That's my kid you're growing. I won't let anything happen to either of you, but to do that I need you to listen, Bones. You can't just write off everything I say. Sometimes you have to listen." He released her from the hug, watching as she slid into bed.

She didn't say anything, just curled up on top of the blankets. She was asleep in seconds. With a sigh, he returned to the front room. He stopped by her computer, and skimmed what she had on the screen: Hodgins' report on the heart tissue samples. He closed the screen, unable to make head or tails of what was on it except the title.

Everything still felt unfinished as he headed home the second time.


	4. Chapter 3: Clues in the Flesh

**Author's Note: Hey! Sorry for the delay! Had some family issues and my grandparents don't have internet. My Appologies! Anyhoo, I will still have the next chapter up on Saturday, barring anything major happening. And enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Two weeks had come and gone.<p>

The first eight days had been spent pouring over evidence that led to brick wall after brick wall.

On the eighth day a body had been found in D.C. All work was suspended by the FBIs higher ups on the Bethany Holms and George Newton murder.

On the tenth day the killer was arrested. It was the victim's husband. Work resumed on the Holms/Newton murder.

On the fifteenth day, two teenagers breaking into an abandoned grain silo in West Virginia found the bodies of a young man and woman, bound together. Local PD, consisting of only a town sheriff and his second cousin who was the deputy, were at a loss and contacted state authorities. The state contacted the local field office of the FBI.

The FBI contacted Special Agent Seeley Booth.

"You're gonna have to tell 'em sometime, sweetie, and it won't be long before they can tell on their own. Are those new pants?"

Dr. Brennan sighed, laying her head on her desk. She mumbled.

"I didn't catch a word of that," Angela said, standing across the desk from her.

Lifting her head, Brennan repeated, "I know. I find that I am anxious about everyone being aware of how quickly my relationship with Booth progressed. It's not rational, but I feel the longer I refrain from Cam and my grad students knowing, the less likely it is for something to go wrong."

"Right. Progressed quickly. If Bo-"

There was a commotion out in the main lab drowning whatever Angela had to say. With a look, both women headed out towards the platform, to find Booth leading a team of men wheeling in a couple of gurneys.

"Booth?" Brennan asked, "What is this?"

The lab techs started transferring the bodies onto the platform and removing them from the body bags. They were a young man and woman, still fully fleshed.

"A murder, Bones. These two were found in West Virginia. But since they are residents of Maryland it worked its way to me."

"Booth... they have all their flesh on them. I don't work with flesh. Why are they here?"

Without a word he handed her a white X-Ray envelope and a manila folder. She opened the folder and found crime scene photos. One showed the couple currently being arranged in her lab lying on a pile of old rags in an abandoned building. He was wrapped around the woman, bound seven times, thrice across the chest, four times at their legs. Her wrists and elbows were tied under her chin, his wrists were tied at her waist. Brennan looked up at the bodies, their position in the photo strikingly like she hypothesized Beth Holms and George Newton were bound. Closing the folder she took out the X-rays. In each chest cavity there was the clear image of a jar, with a mass inside.

"There's still a lot of flesh on them. Has an autopsy been done?" she asked, handing everything back to Booth.

"No, I sent Ms. Wick to get Cam. You and I are headed to Westwood and Lowell Attorneys at Law. First, though, we have to pick up Sweets. You aren't going to believe what we missed the first time around."

* * *

><p>There was something up with them. It wasn't anything obvious, nothing he could put his finger on, but something wasn't right. Maybe it was the way that after barging in on him, thankfully when there was no one else in the room, Dr. Brennan had apologized. Maybe it was that she didn't deride him about soft science when he told them his profile. Maybe it was that she didn't seem to notice that Agent Booth was obviously consciously avoiding touching her.<p>

Whatever it was, something was up.

Not that it did him any good to bring it up. Maybe something had changed, but the agent and anthropologist in the front seats could still argue like they'd been married for thirty years. He leaned between them, ready to put in his two cents, when they both suddenly stopped and looked at each other.

"So, Sweets," Booth asked without looking at him, "he's targeting committed couples?" That had been the source of the argument; Dr. Brennan had insisted that there was no way to determine that the killer was targeting committed lovers, as marriage – and all of the identified victims had either been married or engaged – did not immediately mean that the couple was committed to each other. A person's fidelity could not be determined by a piece of paper.

"Of the ten couples found, and the six that have been identified, all have had some romantic connection between them. I would say that it is logical to conclude that the killer knew this, as the nature of the crimes suggest that he followed the victims, and knew their routines. He took them from remote camp sites, either back country sites or unfrequented parks, but they were always places that the couples were known to visit on a regular basis." Sweets waited for the outburst from Dr. Brennan that never came.

She nodded, as if agreeing.

Sweets narrowed his eyes and watched them both as they exited the highway. It bothered him that he couldn't put his finger on exactly what was different between them. Other than Booth's reticence to touch Dr. Brennan, and her suddenly agreeable behavior, they were the same people. And nothing he could come up with would explain both symptoms.

His musing was cut off by their arrival at the law offices. It was a detached building, older construction, though fairly modern for the area. Late 70s, perhaps, though he was never a very good judge of those things. The windows were darkened, and the parking lot had a look of abandonment. The name over the door though shone in the early afternoon light. The couple at the lab were supposedly the head partners at this firm, though neither was a Westwood or a Lowell.

The air of neglect that surrounded the outside of the building was lost once you passed the front doors. Inside everything was clean, tidy. The receptionist smiled warmly at them as she transferred someone on the phone.

"Divorce?" she asked, with the same sweet smile, "Or prenuptials?" Her face fell when she saw Dr. Sweets, obviously unsure what to make of this third party in her attempts to direct them to the proper office.

"I'm Agent Booth, with the FBI. We're here to talk to Frank Carlson," Booth said, flashing his badge.

Her face brightened again, "Oh! Yes, of course. He's in the conference room down the hall with a client. You can wait in his office, third door on the left after you take the second right. I'll tell him you're here." The phone was ringing again, and she picked it up after pointing them down which hallway to start their journey.

They hadn't been in the office more than a minute when a middle aged, balding man came in. He knocked, though it was his own office. Sweets turned away from the window, but didn't approach. Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were already seated at the desk, and the man moved to sit across from them.

"Hello, Agents. I'm Frank Carlson, current senior legal council now, I suppose."

"Dr. Sweets and I are not agents, Mr. Carlson," Brennan said, earning a glance from Booth and a startled apology from Frank.

Booth half stood and offered Mr. Carlson his hand, ignoring Brennan's statement. "Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Carlson. I'm Agent Booth, this is my partner Dr. Brennan, and our associate Dr. Sweets. We just have a few questions about Howard Gray and Kathy Mason. They owned the law firm together, bought it from the previous owners four years ago. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Agent Booth. After John Westwood passed away, Mr. Lowell left the practice completely. He finally sold it four years ago, Mr. Gray and Ms. Mason had already worked here, and of all the offers it offered the greatest stability in transition. I don't know what we'll do now." Mr. Carlson wrung his hands, sighing, almost stuttering as he spoke.

"Do you know if they had any enemies, or perhaps had started spending time after hours with any one new?" Booth leaned forward, watching the man's reaction.

"No. No, I'm not aware… I don't believe so. They were both still working very long hours, and had made some of the paralegals stay with them, but no one really minded. Since the sale everyone here has been happier, better hours mostly, and if anyone had to stay one of them would stay too. And we don't do criminal cases, DUIs and divorce mainly. Things were really good."

"What about at home? Were you aware of anything going on between them outside of work?"

"No. Mr Gray's been talking nonstop about how his boyfriend is coming back into town in a few weeks. Oh, Lord, what am I going to tell Steven?" Frank muttered.

Booth looked taken aback, and it was Brennan who asked, "Did Ms. Mason know her partner was a homosexual?"

"What? Yeah, everyone knew. Ms. Mason would tease him every so often, but it was all in good fun. Was their murder related to that? Her boyfriend might have had some issues with it. We rarely saw him around here, but he doesn't seem the type to kill someone."

"Could they have been having an affair, despite Mr. Gray's orientation?" Booth asked.

"No. I know it seems strange, since they were out in the woods together. But that park is out of the way. People don't normally go out there. Mr. Gray was trying to find a spot where he could take Steven when he came back. Somewhere that people might not notice, you know? Ms. Mason had gone there before, so she knew it." Mr. Carlson sat over his desk, eyes wide, wringing his hands. His shoulders were hunched, and it took him a moment to straighten himself out of the chair when Booth stood up to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Carlson. If we could just get Ms. Mason's boyfriends name, and where we can reach Mr. Grey's significant other, we'll let you get back to work." Booth said, shaking the man's hand again.

Sweets tried very hard not to drag his feet as he followed them out of the building. So much for his profile.

* * *

><p>Brennan strode through the lab, raising a hand quickly to signal Ms. Wick to follow her, and headed into the autopsy bay. Dr. Saroyan was standing by the counter, her back to the door. The bodies were already on the the gurneys ready to be taken to flesh removal. She turned to look over her shoulder as Dr. Brennan walked in.<p>

"Ah, I'm glad you're here. I can safely say that these two victims starved to death, and rapidly. I'm thinking Hodgins' time of death on the original couple might be accurate," she said, moving away from the table where two mason jars sat, currently empty; their contents in the trays beside them.

"They were dehydrated?" Brennan asked, as she heard Ms. Wick come up behind her.

"No, however evidence in the stomach and intestinal track suggests the body actually began feeding on fat reserves while there was still food in the victims' stomachs. Given they've only been missing a week, and time of death is fairly conclusive at between 48-72 hours ago, it's a logical explanation."

"Except it's impossible. Ms. Wick, I believe Dr. Saroyan is finished, please see to the de-fleshing," she didn't even turn her head as she spoke to her intern, and as Daisy rushed to obey she continued with what she was telling Dr. Saroyan, "A healthy adult can last over a week without food. Unless all of our victims had eating disorders it is simply not possible for time of death to be correct. There has been an error."

Camille sighed, plastering a large, tolerant smile on her face, "Hm, except the victims had pill remnants in their stomachs. Could be they ate a bad potato."

"If they had pills in their stomach, its more likely they were force fed pills, not potatoes. Unless there was also potato in their stomachs?"

"No, Dr. Brennan," Daisy cut in as she reentered the room to get the second gurney, "there's this book, and then it was a movie about a guy from New York who went to Alaska – he ate a potato and a moose. And it killed him."

Dr. Saroyan wondered why she put up with them all. "Thank you Ms. Wick. I'm sure Dr. Brennan wants the bones cleaned as soon as possible." She smiled at the intern, though it was forced.

"I still don't understand what this has to do with potatoes. We'll wait on Hodgins' analysis of the stomach contents before determining where the errors were. Thank you, Dr. Saroyan." Dr. Brennan left, heading for her office.

Camille turned back to the two trays on the counter behind her, shaking her head. Six years and she still felt like she had to remind them she was the boss. Even Booth, and she wasn't even his boss.

The contents of the mason jar stared up at her. They looked so real, and if she hadn't known what to expect she might have thought they were. It surprised her how each heart was distinct. None of the four silicon hearts were identical. Each, from the outside, looked like it could easily belong to the victim who had carried it in their chest.

But it was a mold. It had to be a mold of some kind. You couldn't carve...

Dr. Saroyan stopped, scalpel poised above the fake heart from Howard Gray. In order for them each to be so different, they'd each of had to use a different mold. Or have been hand carved. The silicon might not be traceable, but the equipment to make a silicon mold might be.

* * *

><p>Hodgins' watched as his wife sauntered into his office, smiling that wicked little smile of hers he loved so much. She came around the desk and kissed him, purring softly as she did.<p>

"To what do I owe that pleasure?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Cam just asked me to research equipment sales for mold production – and not your kind." Angela rolled her eyes, leaning a hip on his desk. "Which means the Angelatron is working its magic and I'm bored. I called the nursery. Michael's napping." She sighed, and pouted. "I miss him."

Hodgins bit off a chuckle. He missed his son too, but they'd seen him less than an hour ago when they'd gone to lunch. Angela would have the boy attached to her hip for eternity. Not that that was an awful idea, having the little man in the lab would be great, but Angela was convinced he was better off spending his days with "the normal children" as she put it. "I do too. What can I do to make you feel better?" he asked with a leer. And people said having kids killed your sex drive.

"I'm just here to keep you company. You know Cam's rules, Jack," she laughed.

He was about to respond when the mass spectrometer beeped. With a shrug he rolled his chair away from her and started reading over the results. She read over his shoulder, attempting to decipher what was on the machine's tiny screen. He pushed a couple of buttons and then rolled over to his computer. Angela moved away to inspect the strange things growing around the office.

"Why don't you think Brennan has let the cat out of the bag?" she asked nonchalantly as she perused the shelves.

Hodgins looked up at her, but she wasn't looking towards him. "Maybe she's afraid we'll panic. I know Daisy would." He chuckled.

"Maybe. But if she waits much longer she's not going to say a word and everyone will know."

"Holy pink gadflies batman," he muttered.

"Exactly! Wait, what?" She made her way back over to the desk and looked at his computer screen. "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you think that it's cause of death, than yes. Otherwise, maybe."

"You've found cause of death?" Dr. Brennan asked as she walked into the room.

"Hell yeah, Dr. B!" He hit a button and the spectrometry readings on his monitor moved to the large screen behind him. "It's a blend of enzymes," he hit another button and another graph showed on the screen, "FYN proteins, mainly - orlistat, and ephedrine in smaller amounts."

"Diet pills?" Angela asked incredulously, "Totally not what I thought it was."

Brennan walked up to the screen, looking at the colored bars that showed the ionic variance of the compounds within the pills found in the victims' stomachs. The combination of drugs sounded vaguely familiar, like she'd heard that exact combination before.

"The bones are set in Bone Room 3, Dr. Brennan," Daisy called from the doorway before noticing everyone staring intently at the screen, "Oh! It's the "Burn fat like struck by lightening" pill they were selling at the airport in Jakarta. Remember Dr. Brennan, they tried to sell it to us when we switched planes to get to Maluku," she laughed, "and you told them you were beautiful already and didn't need it. And right you were!"

Everyone in the room had turned away from the monitor to stare at her, all but Brennan wondering how she could figure that out from a single colored graph. The room went quiet once she finished speaking, and the crickets Hodgins had been cultivating as a pet project began to chirp.

"Thank you, Ms. Wick. I will be there shortly." Brennan turned away from her intern, who was still grinning foolishly at the threshold. "I do remember something like that. I read the bottle, I believe."

Hodgins was typing away furiously, and after a moment he leaned back. "King. Of. The. Lab. Lazerpill. Came to the states about six years ago, trial stuff, at the time mainly straight ephedrine. This new formula was announced two years ago. They were shut down by the Department of Public Safety eight months ago. You can't get anything like this in the States anymore, or anywhere with a stable government for that matter."

"Why not?" Angela moved closer to Hodgins, reading over his shoulder.

"Because, Ange, you end up with vitamin deficiencies if you eat less than 2000 calories a day. It sucks it right out of your skin. And what decent, self respecting American dieter even reaches 2000 calories?"

"I'll tell Booth."

And then they were two again, in his office.

"You know, Jack," Angela whispered, almost seductively "I do know something you can do to make me feel better?"

"Mmm?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Walk with me to the nursery to see Michael. Even if he's sleeping, he's so cute."


	5. Chapter 4: The Hints in the Photo

Booth's office was empty and the door was locked. With a sigh, Brennan headed into the bullpen, but he wasn't there either. She passed by records storage, but again it was Booth-free. That left only Sweets' office.

Opening the door, she found that the doctor's office was also absent of any trace of Booth. She was about to apologize and leave when what was in the room finally caught her attention. The loveseat and chairs that normally dominated the room were pushed aside, in their place was a semicircle of glossy 8 by 10s and computer printouts. Sweets sat in the middle, more pictures and papers on his lap. He had been in the process of laying one seemingly at random when she'd barged in. Instead of leaving as she'd planned, she stepped in, closing the door behind her.

"Dr. Brennan. Is everything okay?" He started to get up, but she waved him aside.

"Fine. I was looking for Booth. We found what was causing the time of death discrepancies. May I ask what you are doing?" She took her normal seat on the sofa, though now her back was to the windows as she faced Sweets.

"Agent Booth is in a meeting with BSU. They called him up there just after we got back. I'm hoping I can see where I went wrong on my profile," he said, pausing, waiting for her to comment on his 'guessing'. When it didn't come, he looked up at her, squinting his eyes slightly at her in the light.

Instead, she said, "It seems fairly similar to how my undergraduate cultural anthropology professor explained how to determine the cause of the destruction of a society." She tilted her head, and eying the crime scene photos from all ten of the known locations said, "Organize the results of the destruction, and the root cause should present itself."

"Okay! That's it!" Sweets practically yelled, his voice getting a strange high pitched timber. "You've been down right polite all morning, Booth is acting like you have cooties, and he asked if the two of you could come in for a session next week! What the hell is going on here?" He paused, staring at her, and then his shoulders fell and in a resigned voice he asked, "When did you start sleeping together?"

He closed his eyes as Dr. Brennan smiled slyly, her eyes sparkling.

"Booth and I have been intimate for a little over three months. I suppose this means you can cancel our session nex-" She trailed off, leaning down and picking up three of the images on the floor.

The first was one she'd seen already, the silo in West Virginia. The others were of the four victims that had been found before serious decomposition took - the two identified married couples. She stared at them, then laid them back down edge to edge.

"Dr. Brennan? What do you see?"

"I'm- I'm not sure. Her hair isn't matted, its been brushed smooth," she said, pointing to Kathy Mason in the photo.

Sweets didn't respond, unsure of what Dr. Brennan was seeing. And he wasn't going to be able to find out, either, as Dr. Brennan grabbed all the photos and stood up quickly.

"Dr Brennan?" he asked again as she headed for the door, and then shouted, "Dr Brennan!"

But the door was already closing behind her retreating form. Sweets sighed, and three pictures short, went back to trying to find out where he went wrong on his profile.

* * *

><p>Booth was balancing a stack of folders in one arm as he unlocked the door to his office. He barely kept them from scattering across the ground as Dr. Brennan came around the corner and almost barreled into him.<p>

"Whoa there, Bones. What's the hurry? Leave incriminating evidence in my office?" he asked with his trademark grin.

"What? No, we've never done anything in your office that could be- oh, you were joking." She paused, following him into his office and sitting on the edge of his desk. Then, a bit distractedly, said, "Hodgins found out why time of death wasn't adding up to the rest of the evidence. He found evidence of a number of human hormones and growth related enzymes in both victims' stomach contents. Cam was telling him any experiments he could run would be deadly and so he could not, though I believe we found most of the evidence we needed." At his confused look, she amended, "They had both been force fed high yield diet drugs."

"Magic pills? Really? And I was always told those don't exist. What are those?" he asked, pointing his chin toward the photos in her hands.

"Crime scene photos," she said, perking up a bit. "Sweets is in his office creating a strange sort of Gantt diagram on the victims. I thought I saw something in these ones, but I'm not sure what yet." She handed the photos over, feeling slightly foolish. The feeling had crept up on her not long after running from a psychologist's office. She could find no meaning in what she'd seen, and had begun to think that perhaps the lack of evidence in this case was starting to go to her head and she was imagining things. The pregnancy hormones had been effecting everything else; why not her rationality?

"He's profiling. He recused himself from the BSU lecture I was just in, saying how awful his profile was." Booth chuckled, exchanging one of the folders he carried for her photos. "Agent Barry, you remember him right, tall, balding, crooked nose? Anyway, he's the best profiler we've got in DC, and that's what he came up with after reading the files."

Booth turned his attention to the photos Brennan had brought in, while she read over the profile.

"You know I don't hold much stock in psychology, but this seems to be almost identical to what Sweets had. I thought Sweets' profile was wrong?" She set the folder on the desk, then hopped off the edge and moved to the chair across from her partner. "If he's the best, shouldn't his be different? More accurate?"

"Which is exactly what I'm going to tell Sweets when I see him. Evidence just wasn't there to make any other conclusion, Agent Barry said. But whatever. Did you see this?" He put the pictures down beside each other, just as she had. He pointed to Kathy Masons hair, to how her and Howard Gray's skin were scrubbed pink, and then to the grime caked on the other victims.

"That's exactly what I saw. The latest victims were cleaned before being dumped. I just don't know what it means, Booth. Why them, and no one else? Could the killer have known them?"

"It means, Bones, that we have a second killer. A remorseful one." His grin was sickly, more of a grimace. "We have a weak link. And possibly the person who left Mr. Gray's wallet at the crime scene."

"An apprentice?" she asked, the word bitter in her mouth.

"Possibly. But someone who, at least a week ago, didn't want to kill, and felt sorry for the victims. I'm going to have to take this back down to BSU. Meet me for dinner? In an hour?"

Brennan nodded, and got up to leave. "Oh, Booth?"

"Hmm?" He didn't look up from gathering together the photos and case notes from his desk for his return from behavioral sciences.

"Sweets knows. About us." She shrugged, biting back a smile when he straightened so fast he knocked papers to the ground.

"How the hell? Why'd you tell him? I thought we'd agreed that we'd go next week, play with him a bit. You know?" He ground his teeth. "Give me some time. To get things sorted. So we don't get split up."

"I didn't tell him, Booth. He guessed. And not about..." she glanced at the door, more concerned about her secret than she had been a second before, "...everything. I doubt he'll do anything. He likes you. And why don't we stay in tonight?"

And then she left, leaving Booth dumbfounded at his desk. It was another ten minutes before his brain started working well enough to head back to Agent Barry.

* * *

><p>"When you said stay in, this is not what I thought you meant," Booth said, waving his plastic fork at Dr. Brennan. He'd given up on the chopsticks an hour ago.<p>

They sat at a metal table in the lab's loft, a familiar and comfortable space, but not what he had pictured as he'd watched her leave his office earlier that day. While paperwork had to be done, all the more so when it was a serial killer and the facts kept contradicting themselves, he thought it entirely unfair that she had gotten his hopes up like that.

"To be honest, this isn't what I meant. However, upon returning to my office, I found that the amount of paperwork on my desk had grown exponentially. Best not to let it sit, Booth." She crunched down on a water chestnut, never taking her eyes from the papers in front of her. "This is done. It just needs your signature."

With a sigh, he took the papers, signing in all the right places, and wishing he was sitting on his sofa with a cold beer and a game – any game, he really didn't care – on the TV. With Brennan asleep on his lap. That would have been a near perfect evening. Not filling out I-46's that technically one of the junior agents on the case should have taken care of and not piled up on his partner. The team on this case had over fifty agents, certainly one of them could have taken care of all this and let him have some quality time with his anthropologist.

Agent Barry seemed to have half of Behavioral Sciences working for him on the profile, surely one of the green agents on the team could have taken a moment to fill this stuff out. He hadn't asked, though, when he'd gone to see the other agent, unaware of what the mother of his child had planned for their evening.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds those of eating and shuffling papers. It had been a long time since they had done this, finished paperwork at the lab rather than at one of their homes. Years, in fact; since he'd finally convinced her that staying at the lab until three in the morning wasn't a good idea. But, for whatever reason, they had ended up here tonight.

"Hey, Bones? Why don't we pack this up? It's late. Half of this stuff we can't even finish until your bodies get here. It seems silly. I'll take you home." The food was gone anyway; it was time to go to bed.

She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "You still haven't told me when they'll start arriving. The more of this we get done now, the less we have to do later."

Booth stood up, walking around behind her chair and pulling her away from the table. He spun her around and took her hands. He pulled her up, without too much resistance, and pushed her gently toward the stairs.

"Nope. I'm done. And so are you. The bodies will get here when they get here. I'm taking you home and tucking you into bed. Period. Let's go."

Of course, it wasn't that simple. It was another half hour before they actually left the building. The pile of unfinished paperwork was smaller, and part of him was glad for it. He just wished they could have made it home while the sun was still up. If only a little. Or maybe just casting long shadows into a purple sky. He'd have been okay with that.

As it was, it was after ten when he finally pulled up in front of her apartment. She didn't object when he turned the car off. She didn't send him away when he followed her into the elevator. She said not a word about him following her inside. She offered him a beer, and he accepted.

This was more like it.

* * *

><p>Booth rolled over onto his side, watching Brennan dress in the early morning light that filtered through the windows. He smiled contentedly, snuggling back into the pillow.<p>

"Stop staring at me, Booth. You shouldn't even be here." She smiled over her shoulder at him.

"I was trying to leave, you know, and then the next thing I know I'm in here. Not my fault," he said, flipping onto his back. "It was your rule, and you broke it. So there." He chuckled at the look she shot him.

He had been trying to leave. Sure, he'd stayed over before, and she'd woken up more than once at his place, but Brennan had her laws about cases and sleepovers. He had learned his lesson about pushing when it came to Temperance Brennan, and it was not one he was likely to forget. Her space was sacred, and if she said go, you went, with a smile on your face and a promise to pick her up the next morning. And that's all there was to it. Except that if she said stay, you certainly didn't put up a fight. Or at least not much of one. She'd remember if you didn't say anything and that could be as bad as inviting yourself over.

He was pretty sure that algebra had been easier than figuring out how to handle Brennan, and he'd barely passed that. How he'd managed to turn an annoying, stand-offish, downright irritating woman into the radiant creature that was getting dressed before him, he'd never understand. He loved it.

"I know," she replied, "it's just that I find I am anxious about the book tour next month, and not seeing you for some time. It's foolish, it shouldn't have happened."

"I don't see why you have to go. The bad guys aren't going to stop because you're taking a week out to find a new stalker," he grumbled.

"So I'm not in breach of contract. My editor is already upset at how long it's taken to finish this last book. And she isn't going to be pleased about my current condition, either." She smiled, grabbing a pair of pants from the closet.

"Angela and Hodgins want us to make some big announcement about us, you know? And about the mini-me."

Brennan grimaced as much because the pants refused to button as at what he'd said. She kept meaning to go out and buy proper maternity clothes, but it seemed there was never enough time. It wasn't that she thought that if she bought the clothes then the world would know, and then something bad would happen. That was illogical. She just hadn't had the time.

"I see no reason to do that, yet. Although, we should talk to Sweets about his discovery. He said you thought I had lice. I never corrected him. I'd still rather you didn't use my brush, in any case," she said, pawing through her closet for something to wear. There was that elastic waist-ed skirt she hadn't worn in years. That had to be in the closet somewhere.

"You still want to wait until anyone with two eyes can tell?" he asked with a grin just as the phone started ringing. He stared at it like it was a scorpion, an angry one.

"Just answer it, Booth." She didn't even stick her head out around the closet door.

He snatched at it quickly, but didn't pick up the call. "What if it's...Max?" he asked, uncharacteristic fear in his voice. The con-man didn't scare him, not really. As con-men went he was a fairly honest one. He was, however, the father of the woman Booth had knocked up. Not a pleasant thought, considering the older man's past. And the rather telling looks he'd been giving the agent the last time they were together.

"He already knows. Would you answer it before they hang up?" she growled.

He should have read the caller ID. "Dr. Brennan's residence," he answered rather awkwardly.

"Seeley? Oh, God, I don't want to know. Just- just tell Dr. Brennan her bones are here." There was a telling pause on the line as Cam wrapped her mind around the man on the other side of the phone. "Really Seeley? On a school night?" Her grin made a big impression on his ear.

"I'm just picking her up, Camille. Her car's still at the Jeffersonian." He thought he sounded quite believable. Until Brennan grabbed the phone away from him, anyway.

He heard Brennan's half of the conversation, something about which of the remains had arrived. It followed him as he rushed into the bathroom to get ready. It was one thing to lie to an old friend, and another entirely for that friend to find out about that lie even if she knew that it was a lie in the first place.

"It seems I left my cell phone on silent last night," she said, entering the bathroom without a hint of remorse for making him answer the phone, "but it's likelyshe believed your story. Andall sixteen bodies will be arriving today."

"That's my magic at work."

"There's no such thing as magic," she retorted without much feeling. It was a highly unlikely coincidence that all of the victims they'd picked out as the killer's would show up at once.

Booth was dressed in record time, but Cam's smile as they walked into the lab told him that she didn't quite believe his story whatever Brennan had said.


	6. Chapter 5: The Bitterness in the Truth

**Author's Note: Dunno if anyone is reading this anymore, but to anyone who is, Thank You! it's still got a ways to go, and i promise that once its complete I'll update more frequently. Right now though I'm trying to keep a few chapter gap between what I've written and what I post so that I can go back and edit it if I need to. Again, thanks for everyone that had reviewed, and to anyone still reading! And on with the show.**

* * *

><p>The lab was lined with bodies.<p>

It wasn't just the sixteen she had been expecting.

There were at least fifty people lining the platform and surrounds, most still in body bags, a few lain out for examination. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan were standing over one of them as she climbed the stairs. She heard Booth leave, but was already too focused on the sudden filling of her lab to pay much attention to his departure, though she distantly heard him grumbling angrily. She did catch Cam's smile, and returned it, wondering why she was so happy.

"It seems there are a few more sets of remains than originally expected," Brennan commented.

"That's Seeley's doing," Dr. Saroyan said, marking something on a chart before moving on to the next table, "there were a few more deaths that loosely fit the profile. You'll have to ask him why he felt they all needed to arrive at the same time."

Brennan bit back a retort, remembering a smug grin last night when she'd asked, for the dozenth time, when the remains were arriving. So much for not knowing.

"Have we been able to eliminate any of them?"

"Not entirely. I did find something interesting in the latest victim's tissue samples from the hearts." She walked over to a terminal and brought up a screen showing two DNA profiles. "Angela wasn't able to find anything concrete on who had purchased the molds, but I found out why we couldn't find out the origins of the human tissue, I believe. We were unable to rule out Bethany Holms as a DNA match."

"He uses the previous victim's heart to create the heart for his next?" Angela asked, walking up the steps to join them. "That's just nasty. And I'm still working on the molds. It would help if I knew what kind I'm looking for. Injection? Lazer? Anything?" When no one answered, she sighed and asked, "Where do you want me to start?"

As Cam showed Angela which of the unidentified remains were ready for facial reconstruction, Brennan looked over the files for the bodies she hadn't been expecting.

"Who's coming in today? I'm going to need more than one assistant to sort through all of these."

"Ms. Wick is on rotation for this morning, and Mr. Viziri is in this afternoon. Mr. Bray has class until two, but Dr. Clark is already here, and Mr. Fisher should be arriving momentarily." Cam answered, leaving Angela to gather what information she needed.

"That should be fine. I'll ask Mr. Viziri to come in early, but right now I need to call Booth. When you're done, Hodgins, have Ms. Wick start on removing the flesh. I'll be in my office."

The intern in question passed Brennan on the steps and tried to get the older woman's attention. When it didn't work, she shrugged and joined the rest of the team on the platform.

"Is everything alright with Dr. Brennan? I have the results back on the demineralization on all four sets of remains, and she didn't even stop to listen." She handed the folder to Cam, moving up beside Hodgins as he started gathering particulates from the next body. "The rate of vitamin loss is consistent with that of the first two victims. Under normal conditions that would suggest they took almost two weeks to die! Can you imagine, Dr. Hodgins? Two weeks to die? That would be horrible." She finally stopped speaking, looking rather reflective on her own statement.

"Yeah, except that it was just over 48 hours, not two weeks," Hodgins added, which made the young woman blanch. Starvation was a nasty way to die, speeding the process up seemed torturous.

* * *

><p>Booth stormed his way down into the basement of the Hoover building. He took the stairs, knowing the wait for the elevator would give him time to cool off. He didn't want to. What he had seen in the lab just moments before was ridiculous. And it could only have happened with the approval of one of two people. One was him, and he knew he hadn't done it. That just left the man he was going to see.<p>

Most people he met, thanks to TV, thought the Hoover basement was a dark, creepy place used for storage. That was the basement at Quantico, when the BSU was housed there in the 70s and early 80s – it was a museum now. The Hoover basement was an overly bright cubicle farm like almost every other floor of the building. He pushed his way through the few dozen agents that were there, and stormed into Agent Paul Barry's office.

"Where do you get off on sending my partner every unsolved case you've ever had?" he asked through gritted teeth, just audible over the sound of the door slamming.

Agent Barry looked up, head tilted to one side, a smile that never seemed to completely fade on his face. "I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about, Agent Booth. The remains sent to the Jeffersonian all fit the profile of the killer."

"Really? I grabbed the files on my way down here. Samantha Spencer, found stabbed three times in the stomach. Arms tied behind her back. Does that sound anything like the other bodies we found? She was alone. She had her damn heart."

"It doesn't really matter," Barry said, getting up from his desk, "they're at her lab now, and any information she gathers before she determines that they aren't your killers will help in those investigations."

"God damn it, Barry!" Booth shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk, "you had better be thankful she'll have these taken care of by the end of the day, because I would take you to IAD. With anyone else, this could halt the investigation on the _current _asshole that's killing people indefinitely."

"Like it would matter, Booth. You haven't gotten anywhere in almost a month. I looked into you. 98% arrest rate, 89% conviction rate, nice work. But if you were going to solve this one, you would have already. You aren't like the rest of us. You get lab work back fast enough to catch killers in just a matter of days, but you've already passed the expiration date on this case. Why not take advantage of your 'in' while I have access?"

"She's not some toy you can borrow." He looked ready to punch the other agent. Only the desk, where Barry had sat down again, prevented it.

"Look, Booth. I like you. But just because you're getting some on the side with her doesn't change the facts. She's an FBI consultant, and I can use her for whatever the hell I want to," he said with a leer, but halfheartedly added, "professionally, of course."

Booth felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Why the hell would Sweets tell Barry about this? Why would he tell anyone without confirmation? He was fairly sure there was some sort of rule against that. "Just because you can't seem to keep out of every female agents' pants you've ever been partnered with, doesn't mean I can't control myself. I need a bit more than a nice ass, Agent Barry." All perfectly true, if context weren't an issue.

"Right. And you've stuck with the geek patrol because they make you feel so good about yourself. Cut the crap, Booth. Everyone here knows you've been banging her since the last president. That little stint with the blond this past year didn't fool a soul. Now, go run back to your little scientist, and let BSU handle the serial killers, huh?"

Booth grinned, it made him look a bit scary, almost not human. Barry was just showboating. He knew nothing. He wanted to lose the "A" in ASAC. Well, he would. And the "C", too.

"You're off this case. I'm going to the AD right now. I'm going to tell him about this little conversation. Sweets is head profiler again, I suggest you turn all your reports over to him." He turned on a heel, and then, smiling, said over his shoulder, "You know, Hacker has a bit of a soft spot for Bones. I don't think he'll take kindly to your remarks, do you?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Still fuming over Barry's comments, and the fact that, as awful as it was the man was right, Booth called Hacker's assistant. As Special Agent in Charge, he had the right to remove Barry from the case, but going through channels did make it look better. It made him feel a little better that AD Hacker really wouldn't take kindly to the suggestion that Brennan was an FBI forensic whore.

Now, if only he could make himself stop feeling guilty.

* * *

><p>Angela stuck her head into Cam's office, the first of the facial reconstructions finished. She was waiting for the rest of the skulls to be ready, and wanted to see if Cam had anything pressing she could help with in the mean time. With as many bodies as were out on the platform, it seemed unlikely that there wouldn't be something for her to do. Cam was sitting at her desk, the computer casting a soft glow on her face, though she was staring blankly off into space.<p>

"Hey, Cam," Angela called, getting her attention, "everything alright in here?"

Cam barely jumped, and to the casual observer it would have looked like she'd just turned her head toward the artist. Angela caught it, however, and was intrigued.

"Everything's fine. Working through the reports for the small army we have out there."

Angela smiled, "It could be worse, they could be _un_dead. I have the first of the reconstructions."

Cam took the folder, and flipped through it, nodding to herself. "Sorting through the bodies is taking longer than we expected. Daisy may have a few more of the skulls cleaned, however, if you want to check in with her." Angela nodded, and turned to leave, but Cam called her back, "Hey, Angela? Can I ask you something?"

She returned to the desk, "Yeah, anything. Is Michelle okay?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, she's good. She's working as a tour guide at the Hirshhorn muse-"

"Hirshhorn? Really? I got the inspiration for Michael's mobile from one of Calder's they have on display there. It looks a bit like abstract insects. Jack loves it. It must be nice that she's so close."

"Yeah," Cam said, feeling a little uncomfortable, "it is. We have lunch a lot." She stalled a moment, trying to find the best way to phrase her question. "I was just curious, I mean, it's none of my business, but when I called Dr. Brennan, the thing is...," she sighed, "Are Dr. Brennan and Booth sleeping together?"

"Hey, now! That's a bit out of right field, don't you think Cam? I don't think I'm the one you should be talking to."

"I know. But I can't talk to Dr. Brennan without being her boss. And Seeley will shut his mouth faster than a bear trap. I don't want to have to do anything to come between them, they'd be good together. I guess I'm just looking for gossip?" She smiled, her eyebrows knitting together. If she went to Brennan she'd have to go to the FBI, morally. If she went to Seeley, she could get out of ratting them out, but he'd never say a word. The call this morning proved that. But Angela...Angela could let her know if she should start watching Brennan for sudden trips to the Egyptology storage rooms.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Cam, but is it even any of your business?" Angela asked, very aware that she should have been asking herself that questions weeks ago, "If they still work well together, shouldn't we just let them be?"

With a sigh, Cam nodded, "Yeah, you're right. It's just that after all this time I can't believe Seeley wouldn't tell me. I thought he'd be screaming it at the top of his lungs if anything had happened. Maybe he was just picking her up."

"It's Bren-" Angela started, then bit her lip. Cam raised an eyebrow at her, her smile widening. "Look, I didn't say anything, okay?" Angela prefaced. "They want to keep it to themselves. They know what everyone thinks, and now that it's finally going down..." Angela shrugged.

"My lips are sealed. Give them my best...without letting them know it came from me."

Angela laughed, shaking her head. One cat was working its way out of the bag, and the other hopefully wouldn't be too far behind. She considered letting Brennan know that Cam had figured out their secret, but changed her mind as she met with Daisy to take possession of the cleaned skulls. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, even if she had to mix her cliches.

* * *

><p>Cam glanced into the bone room as she passed by, then turned on a heel and went back. She had realized early on in this case that nothing added up right, but something what more than unusual about the two bodies laid out side by side while Dr. Brennan leaned over them.<p>

"That's...what is...that's not normal," she said, walking into the room. Dr. Brennan looked up, lips pursed.

"Multiple osteochondromatosis. It's a hereditary bone disease, these protrusions," Brennan pointed to a series of bone growths that seemed to congregate at the joints on the long bones, "usually manifest in early childhood. These are surgical scars," she lifted a tibia, pointing to a series of what appeared to be etchings on the bone, "the remodeling suggests that surgery was done on both victims starting about twenty years ago, and every five or so years thereafter. It's highly likely these two were related." She put the tibia back down, walking around to the head of the table.

"Do they show the demineralization that was present in the other victims?"

"HME causes deformed bone growth, and can prevent proper calcification."

"And...?" Cam pried.

"And, the bones are soft, and given the other factors of HME it is consistent with a loss of nutrients."

Cam nodded, moving closer to the tables. "Were these among the original sixteen we were supposed to get?"

"Yes. I spoke to Booth. It appears that rather than going through normal channels to gain my expertise, Agent Barry decided to bring over all his unsolved cases. Had Booth not," she paused, looking at Cam for a moment, thinking, "driven me home yesterday, it is possible that we would have signed the approvals for these bodies without checking that they were correct for this case. I was hoping to have all the paperwork done last night. He's in a meeting with Hacker."

Cam started, but Brennan was already looking away. She hoped Booth's meeting with Hacker had more to do with why Booth had driven Brennan home last night and less to do with the bodies currently taking over the front of the lab. It was taking all her effort not to say anything, but she could be professional about it if Seeley and Brennan could.

"So," Cam started, hoping to keep the conversation away from Hacker and what might be said in the meeting, "they were siblings?"

"Facial markers would seem to support that, along with the genetic bone disorder. However, first cousins might share similar markers as well. We'll know more when we get an identity."

"A highly painful, disfiguring illness and we don't have an ID yet? That's highly unusual."

"Unusual, yes. Not impossible. From the victims we have identified it seems clear the killer crosses state lines to dispose of the bodies. If the victims were taken a long distance from where they were taken, local police might not have thought to do a national search."

"Angela has the facial reconstructions done, shouldn't be long now. Keep up the good work." With a forced smile, Cam backed out of the room. Brennan watched her, and called her back before she was out the door.

"Is everything okay? Booth says that a strained voice can indicate unease. Your voice has been very strained."

"No! Yes, I mean, yes everything is fine. Just keep working on the case, do what you do, with whoever you need to do it with. I don't mean that. I mean, just, yeah, I'll go see if Angela has an ID yet."

"It's highly improbable that she'll have an ID this quickly. She was in here less than twenty minutes ago to say she'd finished the first set of reconstructions. Is this about Booth answering the phone this morning? I don't see what the problem is."

"What? No, no problem. Everything's great. What you do on your time. I'm going to go now." Without waiting for a response, Cam was out the door and down the hall.

Dr. Brennan watched her leave, the gut feeling she'd thrown off days before creeping back up on her. She was fairly convinced now that it didn't mean anything. At twelve weeks it was possible that this unease was the baby moving, causing flutters. She didn't think about how the feeling had come on well before she should have been able to feel the baby moving. Or that she only got it when things weren't lining up with the case.

It was just the baby, and she'd tell Booth about it the next time she saw him. And warn him about Cam. She didn't look well.


	7. Chapter 6: Messages in the Puzzle

Mr. Vaziri peered around the corner into Angela's office. The call for him to come in early had been surprising, but not unwelcome. It was nice to go into work and not pretend, and having worked himself through his undergraduate studies he knew a thing or two about pretending at work. It was nice to just be himself, Boston accent, prayer and all.

"Hey Arastoo," Angela called, seeing him. "Everything okay?"

She was sitting at her computer, fiddling with the last of the facial reconstructions. Her hand sketch was finished and propped up beside her, showing a young couple that even in the rough sketch looked related.

"Just fine. Dr. Brennan asked me to get the skulls if you are finished with them. She'd like to run some more tests. Find anything yet?"

"Nothing. And from me to you, I don't like it. They're good. Even if I do say so myself, these are accurate. Aren't they accurate?"

"I'm afraid I'm not as talented as you or Dr. Brennan in seeing the fleshed face from a skull, but I'd say it was accurate. Dr. Brennan would be able to say for sure." Honestly, he thought that if the finished rendering on the computer screen was incorrect, he'd probably need to find a new profession. To anyone who didn't work for the Jeffersonian he'd say it was a near perfect representation.

"Yeah. Bren would be able to, but I'm not calling her in here until I have something. I know it's right." She sighed, and leaned back in the chair. "Eighteen bodies, eighteen faces, and not one shows up? It makes no sense!"

Arastoo glanced to where the Angelatron was running facial recognition through missing persons.

"Are you doing a national search?"

"Yes, though the parameters are to search near where the bodies were found, at least to start. I know the latest victims were transported rather far, but Bethany Holms and George Newton were found less than a hundred miles from where they were taken."

"In two different states. Most of our other victims were found out west. California, Nevada. If he's taking them over state lines out there, he's certainly going more than a hundred miles."

Angela looked at him like she'd never seen him before. He shrugged, uncomfortable under her stare.

"You're right," she said with an over dramatic sigh, "I've been looking in entirely the wrong place." She smiled broadly in contrast to her earlier sighs. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Burn in the firey pits of hell, never knowing the glory of Allah?" He kept his face blank as long as he could, but Angela's shocked face finally made his face crack into a smile.

"Hey! You can't do that!" she laughed, shaking her head.

"I apologize. You appeared to be in need of a laugh."

"Yeah, I was. Thanks. Take Bren her skulls before she hunts us both down."

Chuckling, Angela watched Arastoo leave. He was right. She was looking in the wrong place. They had two sets of identified victims. They had been kidnapped in one state, killed at some point, and then the bodies dumped. In a different state, in both cases.

She jumped up quickly, and turned off the recognition search. Holms and Newton were found in Maryland. Mason and Gray were kidnapped from Maryland and found in West Virginia.

She was more wrong than she had thought.

* * *

><p><p>

It hadn't taken Brennan long after sitting down at her desk to realize that she didn't like it when Booth was right. He had said that doing the paperwork the other night was a waste of time, and now two days later, he was right. Half of what they had filled out had to be adjusted. Even though Booth had told her that most of the bodies would be returning to the FBI crime lab at Quantico, she had found two additional bodies that showed similarities to the four previously examined victims. It was likely that, as with the sixteen they had pulled earlier, these two would have nothing to do with the case, but the nature of their discovery and preliminary examination of the bone markers suggested they might be worth looking into.

It all meant that she had to go over all the paperwork they'd finished and sort through those that needed to be changed for the additional bodies.

She put another paper aside, and was about to move on when Hodgins stuck his head in her office.

"Hey, Dr. B, you'll wanna see this," he said quickly, then disappeared without waiting for a response.

She followed him through the lab to a station just off the main platform. He was grinning foolishly, staring at the large monitor on the desk. Coming around the corner she saw the magnified image of something fibrous beside an image of a Winnebago.

"Is this a new take on a child's party game?" she asked, perfectly serious.

Hodgins chuckled, shaking his head. "No. This little beauty was taken from the West Virginia crime scene. It wasn't found on the body, so I didn't think too much of it. That silo wasn't as abandoned as the locals believed. Thing is, I found this," he flipped a switch and the Winnebago was replaced by another magnified fibrous image, "on Jane Doe 4, and one on Paul Kilson and one on his wife."

"They're identical."

"Yup. Same red automotive thread, used almost exclusively by RV manufacturers. National RV used the thread in their class C models until 1997, Winnebago used it in all their lines from 1990 to 2005, after which it became a custom option."

"That doesn't really narrow things down. But I'll tell Booth."

"I'm not done," Hodgins said, with a flourish of his hand.

"That _Trifolium stoloniferum_ discovered on the first bodies we found? Shows up on the bodies discovered in Maine two months ago, the local PD actually made a note of it. And people always rag on Mainers." Hodgins shook his head, still grinning. "Anyway, you will have to go to Booth about this, but I think I can reasonably conclude that all the bodies were killed in the same location, or near to it."

"That would be reasonable, though I'd feel more comfortable if we had more data points."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. Of course she would. "I still haven't finished going over all the evidence I pulled yesterday. Hold your horses."

"I don't have a horse. But I believe you are telling me to wait patiently while you find what I asked for."

"Yeah," he said, the grin back, "exactly. In the mean time, I don't think the FBI will need more than this to start looking into campers. If the RV is where the murderer kept the victims until they died, it would have to be fairly large, so I'd tell Booth to limit his search to larger models," at her look, he added, "and I'll have your additional data points by the end of the day."

* * *

><p><p>

Booth was sorting through the final paperwork to return the extraneous bodies to the FBI crime lab when someone knocked on the door frame. Looking up, he saw the assistant director stepping into his office.

"Assistant Director Hacker," he started, standing. Hacker waved him to return to his seat, and took the chair across the desk after closing the door.

"I spoke to Agent Barry," Hacker said, uncharacteristically frowning, "and he said the conversation went a little different than you said it did."

"I didn't feel it was pertinent to get into some of the details, sir. I felt that 'unprofessional' summed everything up quite well." He didn't like where this was going. He'd heard rumors that Brennan hadn't told the assistant director of her intentions to leave the country at all when she'd gone to Indonesia. Had heard, in fact, that Hacker had discovered the fact from the assistant DA, who'd weasled the information out of Caroline Julian. An angry boss was never a good boss, and Booth felt it was even worse when the object of that ire had been very naked and very sweaty with him the night before.

"Agent Barry claimed the conversation had little to do with Temperance's field competence and more to do with an illicit relationship." Hacker leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs.

"I didn't feel that the personal nature of his statements was relevant." In truth, he hadn't wanted Agent Barry brought before IAD, whatever he'd said to the agent. If it went beyond just dropping BSU from the case, it wouldn't be much of a step before they started looking into _his _private life. When that happened, things would get messy quickly. It looked like the mud was being stirred anyway.

He'd told Brennan that he didn't care about regulations, that he wanted to be with her whatever the consequences. He hadn't lied. He'd just hoped that he'd be able to find a way around them, or at least talk Brennan out of field work, before it became an issue. He never imaged that his partner's ex would come waltzing into his office. Then again, he hadn't expected to walk into his partner's ex's office on the grounds that another agent was being uncivil. Things just weren't going the way he had planned. He hated when things didn't go as planned, but it seemed that in the last few years nothing had gone as planned.

"Of course not, of course not. It's ridiculous to drag all that personal stuff out. If what he said is true, we have an obligation to look into it. I can't have agents saying that kind of thing. Not what he said about Temperance, nor what he said you said about him. I just wanted to see what you had to say, before I had anyone dig any deeper."

"You're right sir, I should have brought it up. Bones...the thing is...I'd rather Bones didn't get wind of what he said," although he'd already told her, and she'd thanked him for not knocking the other agent's teeth out. "You understand, of course. She'd probably go find him and blacken an eye or something. She punches judges without a second thought. I didn't want her dragged into this." Booth thought he should probably feel guilty for lying to his boss, but for some reason the fact that Hacker had wanted in Brennan's pants made feeling guilty almost impossible.

"I understand, Agent Booth. I do. I have an obligation though. To the people, to the agents that work here. When I was a field agent, maybe we got away with that kind of talk, but not anymore. I need to follow through with this. You get that, don't you? I'll do what I can to keep Temperance out of it, of course."

It was all falling apart. They were going to find out. It was going to be dragged out into the open and everything was going to fall apart. Booth thought of what Brennan's face would look like when he told her the FBI was separating them. That he was being brought up on charges right along side Agent Barry. That he was sorry.

"Of course, sir," was all he could push past his lips.

"Alright, Agent Booth. So, I need to know what's going on between you and Temperance. And don't play dumb. I'll go to her if I have to, but things will go smoother for you if you tell me. I can smooth things over, for her sake. And you're keeping your appointment with the psych kid next week. I just need to know before anyone else gets wind of it. And they will. Soon, Agent Booth. Before I talk to her."

He stood up, heading for the door. Booth glared after Hacker as he left, for the first time glad that his partner had gone to dinner with his boss.

* * *

><p><p>

"We have to tell him, Bones," Booth whispered, having to speed walk to keep up with her as she crossed the lab, "he's already onto it, and by telling him we can waylay a formal hearing. So, do you want me to, or should we go together?"

"I still don't see any reason for Hacker to know anything. We have more pressing matters."

"I'm trying to keep it from becoming pressing, Bones. That's the whole point. We don't have to reveal everything, but if Sweets knows, Hacker is going to anyway. He made it clear that if he gets it second hand he's not going to be happy."

"What I don't understand," she said, "is if he already knows, what does it matter if we tell him. Confirming a rumor seems to be a bad choice."

They rounded a corner, nearing Angela's office. She'd called Brennan just as Booth arrived at her office, saying she'd found something. She'd squealed, which was enough to convince them that it would be best if they had their conversation on the move.

"It's a good choice. I can't explain it, Bones. It's just better if he gets it from the source, okay?" When she didn't answer, he tried again, stronger, "Okay?"

"Fine, Booth. We can go see him after seeing Sweets on Friday." She entered Angela's office, which effectively ended the conversation. The artist was practically jumping with excitement.

"Quit whispering sweet nothings and take a look at this. I can't believe we didn't see it before. I found the identities of all the victims, and discovered something I think you'll find very interesting." Angela led them back to the large screen that dominated her back office.

Taking up every inch of the screen was a map of the lower 48, ten states outlined in a bright red. Brennan glanced at it, taking note of which states were distinguished. Angela kept looking like she had something else to say, but she was waiting for her friend to see what she had. Booth thought he'd already figured it out, but was hoping to brag about his quick uptake after Brennan had figured it out. With a glance behind him, he reached out to rub circles on Brennan's back, but she swatted his hand away.

"That's interesting," Brennan said, nodding. Angela grinned widely.

"I don't see that it's that interesting. You mapped the locations of the bodies. Come on, I thought you were going to wow me, Angela."

"Those aren't the locations of where the bodies were discovered, Booth," Brennan answered after realizing that Angela couldn't seem to stop smiling long enough to correct the agent.

"Sorry to disappoint, Bones, but, yeah, they are."

Brennan stepped up to the screen and pointed to a state, which had no red outline. "I believe there was a body found in West Virginia." She pointed to another, shining a bright red around the edges. "And one wasn't in Ohio."

Booth went wide-eyed, taking a half step toward the screen before groaning, letting his shoulders sag. "Okay, so what is it, then?"

Angela got out of her daze, and swiped at the touch controls in her hand. A new set of states were displayed on the screen, now outlined in blue. "Those were the states where the victims were taken from. These are where their bodies were found." Booth couldn't see that there was much difference, other than the color, but then Angela hit another button and a number of states turned purple, and a few red ones came back. "This is both maps superimposed. Notice that most of them line right up. Now, if you put the time of disappearance in chronological order, you end up with these lines." A series of black lines connected most of the states. There were gaps, a line stopping, starting again. There wasn't a single state that wasn't connected to another at least at one end of a line or another. The line started in California, went up through Oregon to Washington, jumped to Montana, across to Michigan and up to Maine. Another gap to the body discovered in Maryland.

"Oh, hell," Booth muttered.

"And it's not done yet, Studly. I did a search for missing persons meeting the requirements the profile laid out. Couples, opposite sex, from a remote camp ground, one or both of them financially successful. And..." Angela trailed off, pressing another button, and four names appeared on the side of the screen, and the lines connected, creating a single black snake that crossed the US.

"Oh, hell," Booth said again.


	8. Chapter 7: News like Evidence of Truth

Sitting in the passenger seat of Booth's car, Brennan couldn't believe that it was Friday. She'd felt, when she woke up this morning, that it couldn't be any later than Tuesday, but Booth had assured her when he'd picked her up that it was indeed Friday and they were due to meet Sweets at eight. The week had passed in agonizing slowness, and unbelievable swiftness. She remembered when she was a child and she'd complain about things like that and her father had said that she should blame Einstein. She'd always argue that just because he discovered a phenomenon didn't make him the cause. She silently cursed Einstein as they pulled into the FBI parking garage.

With Angela's discovery that when one victim was dead, he'd leave the body and take the next from the same state came Booth's revelation that it was probably someone who worked for the park services. He had spent the week searching employment records for every transient employee that ever worked for a state or national park. He had come up empty handed. He had cross-referenced former employees of the manufacturers of Lazerpill. Still nothing. He had run everyone who had worked at Lazerpill and owned an RV against anyone who had ever stayed at the parks that kept records. There had been over 1000 names, and he had agents looking into them, but it would take weeks.

And now it was Friday. And they were at Sweets office. And they were back to square one.

Booth knocked once on the door to the psychologist's office and then waved Brennan in before him. Sweets was at his desk flipping through a report, but he tossed it aside as soon as he saw them. He jumped up and moved towards them, his eyes sparkling with questions.

"Sit. Spill. Now," he said, taking his usual place across from the sofa. Brennan was glad to see the room had been replaced to its usual positioning since Sweets had redone his profile.

"Jeez, kid, at least let us get completely in the door," Booth said with a laugh as he sat down beside Brennan. "What are we supposed to be spilling? I thought I asked for this meeting; it was supposed to be about the case."

"Right. Sure. Not buying it. Dr. Brennan already told me, so now I want to know why I was kept in the dark. Or I may just have to go all middle school on you and tell."

Brennan leaned over and stage-whispered, "I thought he was in middle school."

"Oh, cut it out guys! This is so cool. I was just joking. I was so right."

"You were nothing of the sort. You said if we kissed, we'd fall into bed together. Didn't happen," Booth said, mumbling something that might have been 'unfortunately' though no one heard.

"I was right you were in love. For, like, ever. I can't believe you kept this from me for so long!"

"I thought it was Gordon Gordon who pointed out that we were in love. I remember him hinting to the fact not long after you showed up, Doctor Sweets." Brennan smiled, assured she had the upper hand.

"Whatever," Sweets replied, confirming it.

"I really did want to talk about the case," Booth said after they sat in an uncomfortable silence for well over a minute.

"I have the new profile. I'm just finishing up a few things. Oh, man, this is so sweet."

"It really isn't all that amazing. While Booth is an amazing lover, sex has not impacted anything else in our lives to any great degree," Brennan said, though she realized as she said it that she wasn't being completely honest. It was amazing that how different things had become hadn't already become obvious to everyone.

"Except," Sweets said, looking suddenly pale, and ignoring Booth's grunt at Brennan's bluntness, "things have changed. It's been a month since we found the bodies in the dump truck. And you don't even have a suspect. That's never happened before."

"That has nothing to do with, you know, us," Booth responded, uneasy.

"Unless it does. Unless, you're personal relationship has caused an imbalance in your working one. I think, that considering this development, we should resume out regular sessions. Don't you think?"

Half an hour of arguing later, and Sweets had effectively blackmailed them into weekly sessions again. Not even the threat of Hacker, who wasn't quite a threat yet as they hadn't spoken to him, budged the young psychologist. His only concession was that they would wait to start until Brennan came back from her book tour.

* * *

><p>Meeting Hacker, Booth thought as he entered his office on Brennan's heals, had been surreal. It was one thing to have your boss' boss come in and tell you to spill the beans on your illicit relationship with your partner, and quite another to have him squeal like a school girl. So, maybe it hadn't been that bad, but Hacker's reaction to their revelation was nothing at all like he had expected. The man had, just a couple years before, been trying to get into Brennan's pants, and yet now seemed more than willing to congratulate them on their shacking up.<p>

No, surreal was an understatement.

Everything was handled, though, and Hacker had, between telling them he'd better be invited to the wedding, reassured them that the FBI would not do a thing to separate them. As long as their closure rate stayed high. And that was why, as he threw himself into the chair behind his desk, he didn't say a word.

Brennan leaned again back in the chair across from him, clearly having none of his issues.

"It's nice that Hacker is being so amiable. I really didn't treat him very well when I left."

Booth forced a smile, "I think he was well aware he didn't have a chance, Bones. You know you loved me then; admit it."

She smiled in answer, and after a moment said, "Is there anything new in the employment records? I leave Monday, and we haven't made any progress in days. It's starting to wear on me, Booth."

"Maybe we can't do it," he said with a sigh. It had been weighing on him since Sweets had mentioned it, and had become decidedly heavier with Hacker's parting words.

"Solve the case? I have no doubt that we will solve it. There hasn't been any evidence, Booth."

"Not just this case, Bones. Working together, and...the rest of it." He leaned his elbows on the desk, watching her, aware of how much he loved her, and how pissed she was going to be here in a moment.

Or not.

She laughed, "You didn't honestly listen to Sweets, did you Booth? We haven't had a single suspect, a single piece of evidence that led anywhere. It's not us that's keeping this case from being solved. We have - what did you tell me when we started working together? – we have lots of my kind of evidence, but none of your kind. We're at a standstill, that's all."

He wanted to believe that was the truth. He wanted to believe that everything would be perfect, the way it had been these last few months. That they would bicker, and throw insults, and at the end of the day they would go home and talk about their baby and make dinner, and fall into bed. But it couldn't last, and he knew it. Eventually the baby would be born, and if they didn't end up at each other's throats about moving in together, at the very least the very thick line Brennan kept about staying together when they were on a case would become blurry. He knew that things would never be the same, but maybe, with some help from the woman across the desk, he would be able to catch the bad guys and have a happy home life.

"Booth," Brennan said, trying to get his attention, "you don't believe me?"

"No, you're right. We've been able to keep work and us separate. But it can't last forever," he looked significantly at her belly, that had already begun to start a rumor or two, though not to anyone who knew them, "and when it falls apart..."

Brennan stood, shaking her head slowly. She moved around and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"If you're having second thoughts Booth, I understand." She sounded sincere, honest. But he could hear the tears that she hid, could hear the long nights sitting alone in her apartment. Could hear the pain that he'd ignored when he'd been with Hannah.

"Never, Bones. I told you. Forever. We'll catch this guy, if not this weekend then when you get back.  
>Angela said we have a couple more weeks before he'll strike again."<p>

"You don't sound convinced."

He looked up at her and smiled. He would do anything for this woman. "You'll convince me. You always do."

She laughed and squeezed his shoulder. Yeah, she usually did.

* * *

><p>Twenty-five minutes. She had twenty-five minutes before her 'escort' showed up to take her to the airport. She'd spent all weekend on the phone with her agent, attempting to get him to reschedule. It had been made very clear that the work came first and the writing second at the beginning, but the publishing company was getting antsy and they wanted their time.<p>

She couldn't blame them, really. Her last book, started just after Booth came out of his coma, a few days after she'd deleted the story she'd read to him, hadn't been finished until a month or so after she returned from Maluku. She hadn't written a word while in Indonesia, and her publisher wasn't happy about it. They'd made allowances, and then a few more allowances, and then a few more, and they had finally put their foot down. A new book by the summer reading season, or a book tour. When she'd agreed, Booth had still been with Hannah, she'd been spending most of her time drowning in lab work, and she didn't expect that there would be anything pressing. Like Sweets had said, they usually solved cases in a matter of days. Seven months later and she was four months pregnant with Booth's baby, the Assistant Director of the FBI was helping them to evade regulation, and they had a case they couldn't get heads or tails of. And she wanted out.

She had one more trick up her sleeve, and she hoped it would work. She'd tried a similar tactic years ago with the head of the Jeffersonian, and it hadn't worked. Surreptitiously rubbing a hand over her womb, she was very glad it hadn't then. Washington had been fun, but a seven day tour along the eastern seaboard would not be. Dr. Goodman, she knew, would say it was good publicity, having a bestselling author on tour talking about the institute, so she avoided the main building and stayed in the lab.

Cam was thankfully in her office when she got to her destination.

Brennan knocked on the door frame as she entered. Best to be polite when you're going to ask for something.

"Dr. Saroyan, if you have a moment?"

"Of course, Dr. Brennan," Cam said, setting the folder she'd been reading aside, "what is it? You're leaving here shortly, aren't you?"

"That's what I was hoping to talk to you about. We still haven't made any headway on this case. Are you sure you don't need me to stay? I'm sure that this tour can be postponed a little while longer until the case is solved."

Cam smiled. "And there would be another case, and another after that. I was warned you would try something like this. You'll be called up if anything pressing arrives, but I'm sure we can spare you for a few days. Between Clark and your interns we won't be short handed." Some things never changed, and Dr. Brennan trying to get out of things she didn't want to do was one them.

"Of course they're all very competent but-"

Laughing, Cam shook her head, "No. They are all competent, and you are going. It won't be so bad, a nice break. Sign some books, tell some stories, and when you get back hopefully we'll have something new."

"I just think that-"

"Dr. Brennan!" Can almost shouted. True, she occasionally let Brennan walk all over her to keep peace in the lab, but today wasn't going to be one of those times. "I'll be sure to call you if anything comes up. And I'm sure Agent Booth will be keeping you up to date with what information the FBI has."

Brennan sighed, ready to argue, but distantly aware that she'd lost even before she walked into the office. She thought maybe another tactic might work.

"Keep me updated," she said, and then as Cam began to fight a victory smile she added, "And Cam? Booth and I have been in a sexual relationship these past few months. I thought that, since Booth informed the FBI on the matter I should do the same with you." Brennan hoped that the news would cause Cam to be a mild state of shock, much like Dr. Sweets a couple weeks earlier. "Now, I think I need to catalogue the bones-"

"Not so fast. You're still going. Thanks for letting me know, but it doesn't change anything." Cam wanted to tell her she already knew, but didn't think that would go over well. Not when the other woman had a plane to catch.

Scowling, Brennan looked at her watch and stormed out of the lab. Her agent would be pulling up right about now, and she'd lost. It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

><p>"This is Rebecca Jones with channel 6 news, Petersburg. Our top story tonight is the discovery of a double homicide just outside Petersburg city limits two weeks ago. What had appeared to be a local case has now reached a national level. Reports have come in that the FBI has recently found an additional sixteen bodies that can be linked to the killer. Linda Dale is in Washington with more. Linda."<p>

"Thank you Rebecca. I'm standing outside the Jeffersonian Institute, who last week took possession of a number of bodies linked to the so-called Jar of Hearts killer. The name stems from a report released two weeks ago stating that the victims lacked their own hearts, and instead had, in at least one case, a pig's heart in a mason jar in its place. Sources close to the investigation have remained quiet as to whether they believe this to be the work of someone with a medical background.

"Local and national law enforcement are asking people to be on their guard. The victims have all been taken from remote camp sites in a number of states across the country, and a list of guidelines were released today for people planning on going camping until this person is caught.

"Law enforcement asks that you don't venture out alone, and suggest groups of three or more, when venturing away from well trafficked areas. They'd like potential campers to stay in crowded areas, and not camp in secluded spots or in back country locations. And they ask that anyone who sees anything suspicious call the hotline at 800-555-TIPS.

"Back to you, Rebecca."

* * *

><p>"On our talking points tonight I want to take a closer look at this Jar of Hearts killer. There has been almost no information given out on who this guy is, and how close they are to finding him. There hasn't even been a statement that these murders were in fact the work of one man. Do they have anything? And what's with these 'guidelines' they've supposedly released? It's all common sense, but then the FBI isn't exactly known for being the sharpest knives in the drawer.<p>

"Starting a panic about this guy is absurd. Maybe it was a fear of a leak, that the information would get out anyway, but that is no reason for sending out drips and drabs. Do you know who this guy is, or don't you?

"Rather than being so random in the information they're letting out, the FBI should just come clean with what they know. Stop treating the public like a bunch of school children and let them truly protect themselves.

"I want to know what you think. Email me at the address on your screen."

* * *

><p>"Does the Jar of Hearts killer have a medical degree? Do we have any information to support that?"<p>

"No. In fact, from the reports I've seen there is no indication that any additional knowledge beyond what can be found with Google would be required for what was done. Although, I have my doubt as to the accuracy of the report."

"You don't think the hearts were removed then?"

"Not at all. More than likely someone thought it would make a great story and leaked the false information to the press. When the information was out there, it would be easy to falsify a report to try and draw out the killer. Body mutilation is a very rare occurrence in serial killers. Dismemberment, perhaps, but taking the heart and leaving the body intact is not something that I feel fits with the other facts that we've been given."

"Thank you. After the break, are taxes destined to rise?"

* * *

><p>"Car 886, this is dispatch. Do you read?"<p>

"Copy, dispatch. Car 886. What's up?"

"We just got a call from Cindy's over on 7th. Seems a couple wandered into the cafe. They're in pretty bad shape. I've got an ambulance on their way. Are you still in the vicinity?"

"Rodger that, dispatch. Just around the corner. Did Cinds give any idea of what happened to them?"

"Don't know how much I believe it, but they supposedly escaped that Jar of Hearts killer that's been in the news."


	9. Chapter 8: Accusation in the Case

They'd brought the limo.

She had asked, rather politely she thought, for them to not bring the limo. A stylish SUV. A fast sports car. But not the limo.

It wasn't that she was self conscious. She knew her worth, and she'd earned every penny of it, with a little help from Angela, but they always made her sit sitting backwards. It didn't matter who was there, they'd open the door, she'd step in, and the only place to sit would be with her back to the driver. It upset her stomach in the best of times, and with the baby her stomach wasn't at its best.

Her agent, a tall gangly man, who despite having almost ten years on her acted fifteen years her junior, stood bouncing on his heals as she walked out the side door. He rushed over to her and took her bag, smiling a little idiotically.

"Oh! Dr. Brennan! Great! The flight leaves from Reagan; we should be in Boston by noon. The book signing is at the Hyatt. I know, you wanted Bromer's, but they just didn't have the space. We head into Philly tomorrow, then to Pittsburgh. That's a last minute addition. Then three days in New York City, Thursday we don't have anything set, but we're trying to get another day at Strand. Seven to nine, Friday and Saturday." He ushered her towards the limo, ignoring her attempts to speak. The schedule was full, and he'd only gotten through half of it. Monday they jumped down to South Carolina, then made their way back up. She'd be home Friday next. If she couldn't convince him to let her head home early.

As he opened the door to the back he finally paused to take a breath and she managed to get a "we need to talk" in before he started rambling again. It wasn't until she squeezed herself in beside him, facing the front of the limo - thank the universe - that he noticed that she had spoken.

"What is it, Dr. Brennan? I know, it's a little full, but you didn't give me a ton of time. This was supposed to be four weeks, cross country. I can't say I'm terribly happy that we had to condense it to just the east coast. I know, I know, the fighting bad guys things comes first, but what about those seven months off in the inside toilet-less dig? Not a word written. You usually spit out an entire book in seven months!" He took a deep breath, then continued, "So, what was it you wanted to say?"

It took Brennan a moment to realize that he'd stopped speaking.

"I can't stay though until next week. We're in the middle-"

"No! Not listening! La-la-la! You signed on the dotted line. You're staying. I already talked to all your uppity-ups, they don't need you and if they do they'll call me directly. No need to worry, anything they find you'll know it. Probably before you'd know it at home. Nope. Not going to talk me out of this one. I've got you until next Friday and that is that."

"I'm pregnant."

Silence. It was blessed. It rained down on the inside of the limo as they pulled up in front of the airport. It filled the spaces between them. It lasted as they traveled through the airport to the shuttle, and wasn't broken until they sat down on the plane seats.

"Jason?" she asked, feeling highly uncomfortable. With Booth it had been different. He was the father of her child. She'd known this wouldn't be the easiest conversation to have, but she'd hoped for a bit more of a reaction than what she had received.

"When? How? Who?"

"Is that important? I felt that it was important for you to know about the child before going into this."

"Should you fly? Is it safe? You're not going to like go into labor or anything while we're gone? Will you be able to go through with this? Maybe we should get off the plane and you should go home."

She was tempted to take him up on it. Tempted to go back to her lab and solve this damn case. Instead she smiled and shook her head. She was fine. She could fly. She was just over sixteen weeks along, there was no fear of her suddenly having the baby in the air.

And then she mentioned the father.

And there was no more silence until she said good night after the signing, but for the first time in almost a month there is no anxiety. That trepidation that Booth called her gut was gone, and as she drifted off to sleep she lay a hand over her womb. Perhaps her baby slept, or perhaps not. In any case, she slept. And dreamed of Booth.

* * *

><p>Booth paced through his apartment, waiting for Brennan to call. He looked around at the mess and thought about cleaning it up, then decided against it. He'd had Parker last weekend, so wasn't expecting company, and it would be another week before Brennan got back. If only she would call! They'd gotten into New York yesterday, and she'd promised she'd call after breakfast today. Only, it was almost nine and she hadn't called. Not a peep on his phone.<p>

He wandered into the bedroom, feeling anxious. She'd been gone before, never in her current condition, but she knew how to take care of herself. He shouldn't worry. Only, he did worry. The case was at a standstill, and he hadn't even set foot inside the Jeffersonian since Tuesday morning. He'd run further checks on park employees, on guests, on RV registration, but though he'd spoken to a dozen people, there was another dozen he couldn't get in touch with. In the years since Lazerpill had gone out of business, its former employees had scattered to the four winds. And he was stuck in the gale, trying to grab at them as they went by.

The bed was unmade, so he went about making it. Fold and tuck. Brennan had watched, slightly amazed, when he'd stripped the bed down the first time. He'd felt a swell of pride at how impressed she'd been that there wasn't a fitted sheet on the bed. Of course, she'd picked up on the technique in about four seconds and could make his bed almost twice as fast as he could now. It soothed him, though, this routine drilled into his head when he'd joined the army. They hadn't mentioned at the time though, that once he left American soil not only would it be really too hot for a blanket, but then folding the blanket at the bottom of the cot was more applicable than military corners on a mattress.

The phone rang.

He jumped over the bed, undoing everything he'd just done and picked up before he checked the caller ID. He should have learned his lesson when Cam had called Brennan that day over a week before, but he hadn't.

"Bones!" he shouted into the phone

"I'm looking for Special Agent Booth?" the very non-Brennan voice said on the other end of the line.

"Uh...that's me," he said, turning red. He was glad people couldn't see phone calls.

"Hi, I'm Sheriff Joline Kipling with the New Manchester Police Department. Your office patched me through, I believe you were asking for any information regarding missing campers?"

"Yeah...couples, mainly. New Manchester?"

"West Virginia. It's just south of Tomlinson State Park. We received a missing persons report this morning for a Cathleen and David Jones. They're long time residents, and well, normally if two well adjusted recently married adults decided to skip town for the weekend I wouldn't think twice. But all your faxing and emailing and TV broadcasts had the city up in arms. Now, we don't have any witnesses, or nothing. The family was all there, I guess it was some sort of celebratory thing, they were just married about three months ago.

"I sent all the statements and whatnot to your office, Agent Booth. I'm sure it's nothing, and they'll turn up in a day or so wondering what all the fuss is about. But, what with everything, and those last bodies bein' found within state lines and such, well, my mom always told me it's better to be safe than sorry."

The woman reminded Booth a bit of what would happen if you took all the annoying bits of Caroline and added them to the annoying bits of Daisy, then added a heavy Appalachian accent. Whatever her people skills, though, the sheriff had both lightened and doomed his day. Clues had been hard to come by, and another kidnapping meant that things would get moving again. But if they'd gone missing the night before, it also meant he had less than 36 hours to find them, or according to Brennan's model they'd most likely be dead. The thought turned his stomach.

With as much grace as he could, he thanked the woman and got her contact information for if he had any more questions. He considered calling Brennan, but decided against it. He'd tell her when she called. If he told her now, she'd be on the next flight back even though there was nothing for her to do. Unless he failed, and couldn't find them. She'd be angry he hadn't told her, but she was supposed to call soon anyway.

Unlike with the missing couple, an hour here or there wouldn't make much difference to Brennan.

* * *

><p>Angela laid three-month-old Michael down on his belly. He immediately started grasping at the blanket, attempting to shove it into his mouth. She patted his back lovingly, then laid down in front of him jingling a set of plastic keys a little ways in front of him. She looked away when Hodgins came in from the bedroom, running a hand through his hair.<p>

They'd been given a long weekend, partly because Cam was tired of playing babysitter to the interns while Brennan was away, but in truth it was mainly because everyone was getting frustrated that nothing was happening on the case. They had other things pending, certainly, but no one could really focus while there was someone, or multiple someones, tying people up and starving them to death.

He leaned over and kissed his wife on the top of the head and cooed at his son, but his heart wasn't in it, and Angela saw that. She watched him wander into the kitchen and drink straight from the orange juice carton. The look on his face was enough to keep her from saying anything – that and she had done the same while he'd been sleeping.

"We're doomed," he said, sitting down in an easy chair behind his son.

"What? Did you get some news about the secret government? Should we pack up the non-perishables?" she asked with a laugh.

"The case, Ange. We're being punished."

"Ri-ight. Because...?"

"Vincent," he said simply.

"Oh, Hodgie," she whispered, getting up off the floor and walking around to the side of the chair to rub his shoulder, "why do you say that?"

"We've moved on so fast. And your karma has come back to bite us in the ass."

"_My_ karma?"

"You know what I mean. I never really believed in that kind of stuff. But this is our first major case since we lost him, and we don't have anything. Everything is a dead end. Even Dr. B saw it, that's why she didn't fight harder to stay. It's like Zach all over again." He sighed, thinking of his friend. Things had been tough after Zach's incarceration, but they'd talked about him, they'd worked through it, as a team. Vincent, it seemed, was being shoved under a rug, and the universe was saying something about it.

"Bren left because she's had this planned for ages. And, yes, we're moving forward slowly, but...the evidence just isn't there."

"It's not slow. Dr. B's having a baby, Angela! A. Baby. Think of that for a second. Things are on their head, and they have been since he died. Since we moved on and left him behind." He put his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

"We haven't left him behind," she said, pulling on his hands. She tugged him down to the carpet beside Michael. "His memory is right here. And in Brennan's baby. They will be his legacy. His name, here. And maybe his soul, there. Hmm?"

Hodgins laughed, "You don't really believe that."

"Maybe not, but it's nice to think about. We haven't forgotten Vincent, Jack, we've celebrated him. With our son, with your fact of the day emails, with living our lives. He wouldn't want you feeling this way."

He sighed, "You're right. When did you get so smart?"

"I'm full of surprises." She picked Michael up and handed him to his father, who seemed to be in better spirits now that he was assured that fate wasn't out to get them.

She was right, he thought, that Vincent wouldn't want him to dwell, any more than Zach had wanted him to dwell. He thought, maybe, he'd go in to the lab when Michael went down for his afternoon nap, and see if he could find anything new.

The phone rang.

Cam was on the other end, something had happened with the case, though she didn't know the details yet. Sometimes, he liked it when Angela pointed out that being King of the Lab didn't always make you right.

* * *

><p>Booth twirled a pen between his fingers, staring at his desk phone. While the sheriff in West Virginia was taking a proactive role in the case, the FBI had decided to sit tight. <em>No, Agent Booth, you're not going to West Virginia to look at the scene; there is no scene. They've just left; there is no evidence that they were taken, Agent Booth, and until we have evidence that they were, it is not within the jurisdiction of the FBI to get involved with adults that have been gone less than twenty-four hours.<em>

And Brennan hadn't called. It was almost noon, now, and she hadn't called. Her agent had. The quick speaking man had made his congratulations on the expected arrival on their child, and had then informed him that Brennan's phone had been left at the bookstore the night before, and upon going to retrieve they had found the battery dead. No, she was unavailable to speak; she was talking to the owner of the store and would call as soon as she was able. She'd just wanted to assure you, Agent Booth, that she was fine and that she'd call as soon as she was able. Was there anything that she needed to know?

If one more person called him Agent Booth today, he was going to hit something.

He flung the pen at the door, barely missing conking Cam in the head as she opened it, the pen landing with a click on a vacant desk in the bullpen.

"Seeley? The pen piss you off?"

"Yeah. It was blue, I was looking for a black one. What do you want, Camille?"

"Don't call me Camille."

"Don't call me Seeley. Seriously, though, what brings you to the great halls of the FBI? They still won't let me start work on the kidnapping."

"Wish you'd said that when you called," she said, sitting down, "I called in the Hodgins'," she smiled at the term, "and now I'm feeling mildly guilty about it."

"I thought things would move faster, and I certainly didn't expect to be stuck here while the FBI decided whether or not we have jurisdiction in the case." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I think you have more on your mind that just this kidnapping, Booth. Otherwise you'd be at the scene, FBI approval or not. I think this may have something to do with Dr. Brennan?"

"What?" he squeaked.

"She told me, Booth. And as if I didn't already know, she's gotten better at acting but she's been smiling a bit too frequently. And her car wasn't in the parking garage when I called."

"I thought she was going to wait until she got back. This...it isn't a problem, is it?"

Cam laughed, "No, Booth. I don't normally hold to a double standard, and I don't think it would go over well with Brennan anyway. I tried calling her to tell her about the kidnapping, but her phone when straight to voice mail. Is she on her way back?"

"No. Her phone is dead. I'm not going to tell her anything until I know for sure we're on the same page with the guys upstairs. No point in dragging her back her so she can twiddle her thumbs with the rest of us."

"So...you're waiting here taking out your frustration on innocent pens until someone calls to say that you can get on the case?"

"You got it. Though that pen wasn't exactly innocent."

Cam shook her head, smiling. It was nice that things wouldn't change.

The phone rang.


	10. Chapter 9: Friends in an Airport

**Authors Note: I'm sorry for the delay in posting this. It's the hubbies b-day today and we just got home. He's an old fart now, poor guy :) anyway, a little late, but hopefully worth it! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The excerpt Brennan reads in this chapter is taken from "Grave Secrets" by Kathy Reichs and is used here without permission. The excerpt of the first chapter of that book can be found at**

**mostlyfiction . com / excerpts / gravesecrets . htm. **

**If you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it, and the other Temperance Brennan novels. She isn't Bones, exactly, but she's one hell of a woman!**

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><p>Cindy Wrecker was the fourth generational owner of Cindy's Diner in Rosecoal, New York, and the only actual Cindy. The unincorporated area boasted a population of less that seven hundred people but had the closest grocery store and restaurant, hers, to Beaverkill. And on this particular Friday morning, she hummed to herself as she worked to get the place up and running. It was a little after four, and still dark but this was the time she loved best. The dark and the quiet suited her.<p>

The tuneless hum turned into something that she'd heard on the radio. It was something with a heavy beat, so she didn't notice the banging at the door for a few seconds.

"We don't open 'til five, Steven, and you know it!" she shouted, not looking up from filling the sugar shakers. The regulars, Steven Pike and Frank Toule were the only people who ever showed up at that time of the morning, but she opened for them just the same.

When the banging didn't stop, she sighed, and planting her most annoyed look on her face she looked toward the door. The looked faded to shock when she realized that the people at the door were not Steve and Frank. Knocking the glass shaker she'd been filling to the floor, she rushed to the door and unlocked it, ushering the people there inside.

They were naked, and grimy. The woman, perhaps once, had been beautiful, but now she was bedraggled and filthy. Her hair stuck to her face, and she was covered in mud and what Cindy thought was blood. The man was in worse shape, barely able to hold himself upright. Locking the door behind them, Cindy rushed them to a booth. She wasn't sure what to do, but her mothering instincts kicked in quickly and they were wrapped in her emergency winter blankets in seconds.

"Hey," she said, when they were finally covered, "I'm going to call someone to get you to a hospital. They're gonna wanna know your names. Do you think you can tell me? Can you tell me what happened?"

"Jar," the woman whispered as the man clutched a fist to his chest, right over his heart.

Cindy swallowed hard. It wasn't hard to figure out. She'd been watching this on the news just last night. Some guy crossing the county killing poor couples and ripping their hearts out. Cruel. And now he was in her backyard.

Nope.

Not gonna happen. Not while Cindy Wrecker lived and breathed.

She left them with a smile, and having watched enough CSI to know better than to try and clean them up, or offer them anything that might compromise the evidence she went to the back room to call the police.

They were there in seconds, certainly faster than the ambulance. Little Tommy and his partner Bill. Not that Tommy was that little anymore, at 6'6", and muscles enough to move mountains, but she'd changed his diapers, and he'd always be little Tommy, who'd taken her Lizbeth to the prom. He was amazing with the couple, and she approved whole heartedly when he let her make them something to eat. They both certainly looked like they needed it.

When the paramedics arrived and took them to the hospital, Little Tommy took her aside.

"Cinds, I know you ain't into this sorta thing. But I'm gonna ask you to come down and give a statement, if that's not a bother."

"I'd have to go, even if it was, Tommy. You're not working for your Daddy anymore, you're state police, and I'll come in and give my statement. But, where are they taking them? Doc K can't see to him, not with the Parley twins about to be born."

"They'll take them to Liberty, but the hospital there can't hold them either. I figure they'll transfer 'em to Binghamton by dinner. Will ya be openin' fer dinner, Cinds? I was gonna bring mom by for some country fried steak."

"I'll be open, Tommy. But only for dinner today, I think. Lizbeth and Carl'll be able to handle it. But...if they are the Jar of Hearts killer's newest-"

"I'm gonna get the call in once I get back to the office. There's a FBI agent handling it. Hopefully with these 'uns being alive, they'll catch the dude, huh?"

Tommy's partner was tapping a foot and looking at his watch by the door. Cindy laughed, and, promising them free carrot cake the next time they dropped in, let them go.

Hopefully this FBI agent would catch the guys soon. A serial killer was not going to be good for business.

* * *

><p>Booth paced in front of the windows of the airport, watching the tarmac for the arrival of the shuttle. They ran every hour, on the hour, and yet this one seemed to be very late. Never mind that he had walked into the airport mere seconds after the last one left, and the next wasn't due for another twenty minutes. The call from New York had taken him by surprise, and the fact that Brennan still wasn't answering her phone had just heightened his unrest. He checked his watch for the eighth time in half as many minutes and moved to sit on the row of plastic seats.<p>

He was flying into Rochester, and having to drive to Binghamton, which wasn't exactly on his top ten things to do when there was a serial killer out there. Getting there was going to be less than pleasant when he was driving alone. Brennan was going to kill him when she found out, but it wasn't exactly his fault he couldn't get in touch with her.

He'd called her agent, and heard her in the background shouting about the layout of the table or something. She was okay, but there was no reason for him to talk to her, her agent told him very insistently. He told Jason to tell her that they'd had some information regarding the case they'd been working on but he was fairly sure that information wouldn't make it to her.

He looked out the window to the plane finally taxiing in. Finally.

It had been a hectic few hours since he'd watched Cam leave. He'd finally gotten permission to fly, not to West Virginia, but to New York. He hadn't bothered calling Brennan. She'd be getting ready for the reading, and he'd call her when he landed. They wouldn't be able to make it to the hospital until the next day anyway.

The plane was taking way too long to unload.

He grabbed his bag and moved toward the ramp door. The first few passengers were starting to disembark, and he hoped that meant he'd be sitting on the plane, and hopefully in the air, within in the next ten minutes. It took every ounce of self control not to pace. Other people were watching him, and whispers were starting to spread, so he sat down.

Just as he sat, he stood back up again. Two very familiar people, familiar people he'd never expect to be walking together, let alone together here, were headed for the gate.

Angela was dragging Sweets by the hand, just a speed below sprinting. She spotted him by the door and adjusted her course slightly to meet him.

"Whew, didn't think we'd catch the same flight. Jack's going to stay behind to look after the munchkin, and run any fibers we find on these people. Are they really alive?" Angela was smiling brightly, taking a step away from Sweets to fall into the chair Booth had just vacated.

"What are you doing here?" Booth asked, not sure if he actually was glad about the sudden company.

"While normally most of the work the Jeffersonian and I do can be handled via web cam, Hacker felt that the nature of this case required a few more personnel on site. Given that Dr. Brennan won't be there," Sweets said with a goofy smile.

"You went to Hacker?" Booth had forgotten his impatience to get on the plane. A flight with Angela and Sweets was going to be a little more than slightly annoying. Well, a flight with Sweets. Angela would probably keep to herself – if she was alone. These two together, even on the short flight to New York, was going to be Relationship Counseling 101, without the other half of his relationship to bear part of the onslaught. "And who said Brennan wouldn't be coming? I'm going to call her as soon as we land."

"Really, Studly? You gonna be sharing a room?" Angela grinned, waggling her eyebrows at him.

"How do you feel that your taking Brennan away from this part of her writing career will affect her view of your personal relationship?"

Booth muttered something in response, then made a bee-line for the ramp that had just been opened for boarding.

It was going to be a long flight.

* * *

><p>"Alright, now, I think today we should go with the reading, then let them get the books signed, and we can round the night out with questions. I know it's a bit strange, but this way we can get the signing out of the way. And we'll have fewer people show up just to get the books signed." Jason had been talking incessantly since he'd met her for breakfast that morning. Since about eleven she hadn't heard a word he said, as she continued to look for her phone.<p>

She'd been positive she'd had it the night before. They'd had an informal Q&A with anyone who had happened into the store, and she remembered putting her phone on vibrate for the event. She was fairly certain she'd picked it up when they'd returned to the hotel, but it had been gone when she woke up in the morning. While Jason continued on, she hunted through the bookshelves hoping that she'd set it down.

He'd been nice enough to call Booth for her at breakfast, and to check up to see if anything with the case had shown up. She'd hoped that he'd call her, on the off chance she'd hear the ringing among the books. It was nearing five now, and not a peep from him. Jason had gotten a call about an hour or so ago, and had left her in blissful silence. She gave up on the bookshelves and sat down at the table set up for her. Her latest book was blown up on a poster beside her, and hardback copies of it were to her right.

The crowd lapsed into silence as she sat down. She went through the standard greetings her publisher had made her learn, lest she completely alienate her readers.

And then she began to read.

She usually liked to pick something from the middle of the book, something that focused heavily on the science, on what made the book real to her. The crowd generally wanted something from the middle of the book as well, something with Agent Andy and Kathy having hot steamy sex. Only, they didn't do that in this book. Andy wasn't even in this novel. Kathy had run off to the other side of the world and left him behind, perhaps broken hearted. Or perhaps it was Kathy that was broken hearted. She hadn't been entirely sure herself when she wrote it, after scrapping the book she'd started the year before. Andy wasn't mentioned at all in the book, even in passing.

Her agent hadn't liked that, and now that things were so different in her life, she didn't either. She revised her original back-story, the unwritten one, for why Andy wasn't there. Kathy would go home to him in the next book. Maybe they'd have a baby. She smiled to herself, and started at the first page.

She was maybe four paragraphs in when she heard the buzzing.

"._..wide river of green, lush forest interspersed with small fields and garden plots, like islands. Here and there rows of man-made terraces burst through the giant checkerboard, cascading downward like playful waterfalls. Mist clung to the highest peaks, blurring their contours into Monet softness_," she read, as the buzzing continued.

She looked over at her agent, who was fighting with his pocket.

"_I am used to the aftermath of death. I am familiar with the smell of it, the sight of it, the idea of it. I have learned to steel myself emotionally in order to practice my profession. _

"_But the old woman was breaking through my determined detachment,_" she continued from memory, eyes on Jason. Her eyes fixed on him as he pulled her phone out of his pocket.

Without a thought to the crowd, she set the book down and lunged at the older man. Seeing her eyes he handed it to her without a word, and went to still the crowd as she took the call.

"You have no idea what I've been through today, Booth," she said as way of greeting, "I may be coming home tomorrow after this."

"Letting your phone run dead tick you off that much, Bones? But don't run home just yet. Think you can catch a commuter to Rochester?"

"What's in Rochester?" she asked, letting the phone comment slide. She'd deal with Jason and his lies later.

"Nothing but an airport. But our elusive killer isn't so elusive anymore. A couple was found in some nonexistent town east of here, they're at the hospital in Binghamton. They say they were snatched by the Jar of Hearts killer. Sometimes I hate the media."

"I'll drive. I'll meet you in Binghamton in about four hours." As an after thought she added, "Thank you."

Jason was not happy to see her go, not after the work he put in to keeping her out of contact with her 'other' work.

She fired him as she walked out the door, and told his assistant to call her publisher and find her a new agent.

Booth sat outside the Binghamton Police Station, watching the parking lot for any sign of Brennan's rental. She'd called when she left the City, and updated him on her estimated arrival time. That she could calculate that in her head amazed him every time.

Angela and Sweets were off somewhere, and he was glad he didn't know. The flight had been miserable, and its only saving grace was that he'd gotten through to Brennan when they'd touched down. He'd told them in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to be followed around. They seemed to have gotten the hint, because as soon as they got into town – the drive had been almost worse than the plane ride, but at least he'd had something to do in the car – they had left to do whatever it was that squints did when not solving murders.

A blue sedan pulled into a space near the front entrance, and he leaned forward. It could be her. The setting sun wasn't bright enough and the streetlights were at the wrong angle to get a good look until the driver got out of the car and came closer, but he was fairly certain it was her.

It wasn't.

He had the police notes from Rosecoal and the state police, and he'd gone over them. Twice. Sweets had told him to slow down on the drive here, that Brennan had about an hour of extra drive time. It had only made him drive faster.

He looked over the notes for a third time.

They were Mr. and Mrs. David Jones, of New Manchester West Virginia. They had given a short statement to the police just before being transferred to the hospital here, but nothing more than that they thought it was the same guy they were talking about on the news. When he'd been called in, locals hadn't really put much effort into talking to them. That seemed strange to Booth, national news like this and the local PD was usually pushing for jurisdiction and notoriety. Your name on the news meant more money in the department's pocket.

He wasn't going to complain about it though, not in the slightest. If the local blues wanted to pass the glory onto him, so be it. He was already sunk either way if they didn't catch this guy; he'd like to get the credit if they did.

Another sedan pulled in, possibly a very dark blue, and parked under the shade of a striving elm that had already done a number to the road. The car was parked just far enough away that even though it was parked almost directly under a light, he couldn't quite make out who it was. He knew it was her though, if only by the way she walked. He got up, and just barely kept himself from running over to her.

He felt a bit of a fool, being so excited to see her again after so short a time. It had been less than a week.

Sweet and Angela had tried to convince him that it was the sex he was missing. He'd barely been out of his relationship with Hannah, they'd said, when he started seeing Brennan. He'd become used to regular sex. But that wasn't it, not really. He could go forever not touching her, if he could only see her. He didn't want to go without touching her. Ever again. But he could. If he had to.

He met her at the curb, and dusted off some nonexistent fuzz from her shoulder instead of kissing her.

"Hey," she said, with a shy smile that he'd never seen on her before. She looked almost embarrassed, though he knew she never got embarrassed.

"Hey," he replied, wondering how they could end up so awkward. It hadn't even been a week.

"It's a bit late to go see the victims tonight."

"Yeah. They're expecting us in the morning. Angela and Sweets got us rooms just down the street. I thought we could meet up with them and go over what we have during dinner."

"That's great. I'm quite hungry. What are they doing here?" They moved toward his car, leaving hers there. They'd return it in the morning; right now they didn't want to separate again.

"Making my life miserable. Oh, and saving tax payer dollars by not setting up a satellite feed or something. They can explain it."

In the car, he finally kissed her. She batted him away with a laugh, and asked how Angela was taking being away from Michael.

Sometimes he wondered what had happened to the woman he'd known seven years ago. It was times like these he was glad of the changes.

And thankful they'd found each other again.


	11. Chapter 10: The Knowledge in the Victim

**Authors Note: I'm so sorry this took so long! This is the second chapter that I didn't get out on time, and it sucks. And it's a whole week late! I'm a bad updater :( With labor day I was out of town, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!**

**On another note, let's give a few moments to my beta, The Imperfectionist, and everyone else back east, some of whom are just now getting their power back! **

**Anyhoo, on with the show!**

* * *

><p>Angela and Sweets were already sitting at a table near the window as Booth pulled up in front of the tiny restaurant. Angela waved out the window like a fool when she saw them, then rushed to meet them at the door.<p>

"Sweetie!" she almost yelled, pulling Brennan into a tight hug before she was even completely inside the door.

"Hello, Angela. I've only been gone five days, I hardly think that requires you to squeeze me quite so hard," Brennan managed to say as all the air was pushed from her lungs.

"That was from Booth," Angela said, letting her friend go and heading back to the table, "He's been inconsolable since you left." She gave Brennan a shorter, one-armed hug before sitting down across from Sweets, "That one's from me."

Booth sat down beside the artist, glaring at her and the psychologist. He was fairly sure that if either one of them brought up anything about 'sex depravation' he'd shoot them both.

"Did you get the hotel rooms?" he asked, hoping to avoid the subject. However, as soon as it was out of his mouth he thought that maybe this wasn't the best way to go about it.

"We did, as best we could. The Feds are only splurging on one room. And Angela says the Jeffersonian is the same," Sweets said around his straw.

"That is no matter. I am more than willing to rent additional rooms. The Jeffersonian will reimburse me."

"Yeah...not so much, Sweetie. Even if they had another room, which from the parking lot I doubt, Cam was fairly adament about no additional reimbursements." What Cam had actually said, and which Angela would never reveal, was that if Angela saw even a hint of the partners getting a little too chummy she was to separate them at all costs. Save face for the institution or something. It had sounded remarkably like it had been a practiced speech, but Angela hadn't argued.

"I'm sure they'll have at least one additional room. Do we have an additional information on the two victims in the hospital?"

"David and Cathleen Jones turned up at Cindy's Diner in Rosecoal this morning. They didn't tell the police much before they were transferred here. I haven't been able to see the doctors yet, so we haven't confirmed that this is the same guy. Could be a copy cat fr-" The waitress came over and took their orders, and Booth stopped. The last thing he wanted to do was start a media craze because the waitress told her boyfriend who told his brother who knew a guy who knew a guy who worked for the local news network.

"David Jones," Angela murmured, as the waitress turned to leave. "I wonder if he looks like a Monkee." She sniggered, and Booth put his head in his hands.

"Really Angela? Bad taste," he said.

Brennan and Sweets were simply looking at them like they were crazy.

"While it is possible for humans to have a facial structure that some might think resembled the primate, its more likely that he would look like an ape, as opposed to a monkey."

"No, Bones. Hey Hey we're the Monkees? You know?"

"What?" Sweets asked. "I'm so confused."

"We've dated ourselves, Booth. And the sad thing is, I'm younger than you Bren. I thought you were some kind of music guru, but you don't know the Monkees?"

"Or the Cure, Angela. She didn't know the Cure, which should be a crime."

Angela and Booth laughed at their companions' lack of understanding. They were still trying to make them understand by humming 'Daydream Believer' when their dinner came.

* * *

><p>Brennan threw her bag down on the bed, taking in the tiny space and wondering if it would be healthier to sleep in the car. Angela, obviously not as worried about biological matter that might be living on the blankets, had landed, spread eagle, on the bed near the window.<p>

"We should have a pillow fight and give your Booth something to think about," she said, rolling onto her side, trying to get a smile out of her friend. Brooding didn't suit the anthropologist in the slightest.

"I'm sure he can think without us hitting each other with," she fluffed a pillow, and finding that it didn't crackle, laid down, "these. And I'm fairly sure that Sweets would get the wrong idea."

Angela smiled knowing it had been a long shot in the first place, and got up to start putting away her things. Brennan lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There hadn't been a third room available, and the next closest hotel had recently been cited for bed bugs. She wasn't about to go there. She'd hoped to have a moment to talk to Booth. The past week had given her some time to think, to reflect. It had made her realize how much she missed him when he wasn't around. It made her want to stand with him when their friends discovered her pregnancy.

She sat up suddenly, staring at the door. Despite Angela's comment, Booth and Sweets would probably be unable to hear them. They were across the hall. She feared for a moment that Booth would let their secret slip. She was sure he hadn't yet; Sweets hadn't brought it up during dinner, and his ability to keep quiet about their relationship was nonexistant.

"What's with the deer in headlights look, Bren?" Angela asked, extracting herself from the closet that was now filled with all their bags.

"I was just, thinking. If Booth is going to..." Brennan whispered.

"He won't say a word, Bren," she said with a laugh. "You know that."

"Yeah, I do. When we get back, I'm going to have to tell Cam. I guess that'll be a good time to tell everyone else. Dad, and Russ." Angela thought she looked remarkably like a scared girl, sitting on the bed with her knees up to her chin.

They lapsed into silence, Brennan lost in thoughts of what would happen when the world knew. Not the literal world, of course, for she doubted the FBI would want to publicize their relationship despite her fame as an author, but she felt the expression was appropriate. Angela respected her need to think, after a week of not really having much time for it.

While Brennan went into the bathroom, Angela called home. She missed her boys, but had faith in their ability to keep each other company. Even if one of them wasn't even sitting up yet.

"Hodgins."

"Hey Jack, how's my second favorite man?"

Hodgins laughed. "I'm hurt, Angie! But we're both wonderful. Michael's asleep, finally. How're things going there? Did he call Dr. B?"

"Within seconds of landing," she said with a laugh, "She drove from New York City to meet him! I can tell you, Hodgie, I will never do that for you. Not four hours straight in a car. Anyway, after Booth talks to the victims tomorrow I'm going to do a sketch. The police report said they got a good look at this guy. Hopefully it's right. Hey, Bren's out of the bathroom, I'll call you tomorrow."

She hung up to him yelling, "What? You're sharing a room with Dr. Brennan? What are you going to do Angela? Angela?"

"Is Michael okay?" Brennan asked.

"Yeah. They're both great."

Angela headed off to the bathroom, and Brennan curled up on the bed. For all the room looked old and run down, the sheets smelled wonderful.

She was asleep before Angela returned.

* * *

><p>The Binghamton city hospital had started its long life as a sanitarium. In 1857 Charles Donahue purchased a piece of land and built the Binghamton Home for the Insane. It remained as such until 1934, when, facing bankruptcy, it allowed the state to buy it out. The Binghamton Sanitarium was a state run facility until 1957, exactly 100 years to the day from the time the first stone was laid in this main wing, when it was converted to a hospital.<p>

The building holds onto its past with tight claws. Though the maternity and children's wards, added in 1985, are bright and cheerful, the rest of the hospital seems to ooze with the tortures of its past. David Jones, recently transferred, was on the third floor of the main building. His room had an amazing view of the lawns, which, though the front drive was now paved and an ambulance sat idling at the front doors, looked not much different that it in when Mr. Donahue owned the place.

Booth knocked on the open door, peering in at the patient. The young man, who looked nothing like the '70s band member of the same name, was sitting up over a plate of what smelled like a steak and mushroom omelet. David looked up from his breakfast, and waved the agent into the room.

"Come in," he said around a mouth full of egg.

"I'm Agent Booth, from Washington DC. I believe there was an agent from the local FBI field office here yesterday, who told you I was coming? I was hoping I could ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, and Cathleen called up. Said she upset you." He shoved another forkful of the omelet, now confirmed to be filled with steak.

"Not at all. I understand this can be difficult. I'm just hoping you might remember something that can help us find the man who did this. The diner you were found at, that's quite a distance from where you were last seen. You were at a wedding reception, correct?"

"Not exactly. Cathy and I eloped. We were out at the campsite to celebrate with the family, since we kinda skipped out on the wedding."

Booth pressed him for more, and the whole story came out in bits and pieces. They had wandered away from the campsite, and perched on a set of swings. They had still been able to hear the party some distance away, and had thought themselves safe. There had been a noise in the bushes, and the next thing he knew, he'd woken up in a camper.

"We were on a bed, in the back. It was all locked away from the rest of it. We were all bound together so we couldn't move. I don't know how long we were back there. Awhile, I think. They'd shove pills in our mouths, and make us swallow them. Then they'd make us drink something that made us pass out. I don't know. I don't remember a lot."

"They?" Booth interrupted.

"Yeah. There were two of them. That's...one of them let us go. I didn't see either of them; they had really dark curtains, or maybe just didn't come back except when it was dark. One time when I woke up, the bonds were cut. It was dark, and Cathleen kinda drug me away."

Booth nodded, standing. Mr. Jones looked drawn out, paler than when he'd walked into the room. He didn't have to be a long time investigator to know that it was time to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," he took a card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and held it out, "if you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call me."

The man in the bed had returned to his breakfast with zeal, and nodded to the agent as he shoved more eggs into his mouth. Just before Booth left the room, he called him back.

"There is one more thing, Agent Booth."

Booth turned back, and returned to the chair by the bed. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "Yes, Mr. Jones?" he prodded.

"The camper. It was a '98 Chieftain. With all the extras."

"I'm sorry?" Booth found it more than a little strange that the man couldn't remember much about the man who attacked him, but knew exactly what type of RV it was after seeing it while running away, starving, in the dark.

"I worked as a RV salesman, Agent Booth. I know my recreational vehicles. It was a '98 Chieftan. And, I think it had California plates. There was a D36 in the number, maybe? I can't remember. He had a bunch of industrial equipment in the kitchen part of it, we almost tripped over it all. It kinda woke me up, and, I noticed what it was. It was a pretty good seller my first year there. I started then."

"Thank you," Booth said, feeling a wave of excitement shoot up his spine. They had a make, a year. And possibly a partial license. They were solid.

* * *

><p>Dr Brennan sat at the desk behind the laptop connected to the Jeffersonian. The doctor currently handling the care of the Jones' was talking to Cam about their current condition. It hadn't been difficult to get them both to release their medical information. Cathleen in particular had been eager to find any way to catch the man who had captured her. She'd been almost incoherent, however, when Booth had tried to speak to her. That was why Brennan was sitting in the doctor's office, only half listening to what he was telling the pathologist on the other end of the video link.<p>

She'd wanted to talk to Booth about the strange feeling that had resettled over her since he'd called the day before. It had faded when she'd gone on the book tour and she'd been tempted to believe she'd imagined the feeling in the months that had proceeded the trip. Yet, as she'd been leaving the City, the uneasiness had crept back on her.

She just didn't know how to bring the subject up.

Certainly, she'd come to the realization that she didn't have to worry too much about what he thought when she had moments like this. Unlike Hodgins, or even Cam at times, Booth seemed to take the fact that she had irrational moments as a given. He accepted them easier than she did herself. She felt foolish even thinking that it wasn't simply indigestion. That was the most logical explanation, given her current condition.

But, she no longer thought it was indigestion, or the fleeting movements of her child. She'd felt those, and they didn't feel they same. They were localized, and didn't cause her skin to crawl like this did.

The way she felt now, she felt like someone was watching her.

Looking up from her hands, she saw that someone was indeed watching her. The doctor had finished his discussion with Cam, and was waiting for her to realize they had stopped talking. He smiled knowingly when she apologized.

"When are you due?" he asked.

"The beginning of next year, February," she muttered, uncomfortable discussing it, but mostly upset that he'd noticed.

"Congratulations. I have three, all boys. This is your first?"

"Yes. I'd appreciate it if you would notify us of any changes in their condition." She stood, gathering up her laptop.

"Of...course?" the doctor replied, taken off guard at the sudden change of subject.

With a nod, Brennan left his office. She heard a voice, that sounded remarkably like Booth, telling her she should have been nicer to the doctor. That he couldn't know how much she feared people finding out about the baby. How much she feared Sweets finding out.

As she walked down the hall in search of Booth or Angela, she kept looking at herself out of the corner of her eye as she passed glass doors or silver food carts. She did look a little bigger, she thought, but not drastically so. She told herself that the doctor knew simply because he was a doctor, or perhaps she'd been unconsciously rubbing her stomach. That was a habit she seemed unable to break no matter how hard she tried.

And she did try.

She found Booth at the end of the hall, and he smiled at her.

He had information on the RV, and already had the New York field office looking into it. She knew this would be the perfect time to bring up the uneasiness, but found that his excitement over his scrap of information was too bright to dampen. He'd be mad that she'd remained silent about it, but perhaps it was for the best.

It was just the case. That was all, she told herself as they headed downstairs.

Once they had this guy everything would be back to normal.


	12. Chapter 11: Faces in the Dark

**Authors Note: So, the story is now done. I've finished the final chapters, and they're edited, and they're all ready to be put up here. I'm thinking I might put them up twice a week now, once on saturday/sunday and one on wednesday/thursday. I'm not sure if i will or not, though. I might just make you all suffer. Mwahahahahaha! Reveiws are always welcome. **

**On with the show...**

* * *

><p>"The eyes are too close together, and his nose was wider, I think," Cathleen Jones said, handing the sketch pad back to Angela with a trembling hand.<p>

Angela had been sitting in the cafeteria with Sweets, listening with half an ear, as he made adjustments to the profile. Booth and Brennan had gone to the police station to follow up on the RV. She wasn't entirely sure how the call had made it to her, but somehow Cathleen, without calling Booth, had created a phone chain that had some fifteen-year-old candy striper running up to her and begging her to go up to see Mrs. Jones. In the hour or so since Booth had spoken to her the face of her kidnapper had floated into her head. Or, more accurately had woken her up with a scream.

Angela went about making the changes to the sketch, keeping half an eye on Cathleen. There had been a number of small changes like this, but this had been the first time that it was close enough to get a reaction from the woman. The face that appeared on the page wasn't that scary. He looked like any middle-aged working man. Rough around the edges, but that could just be the sketch.

While Angela worked, Cathleen wrung the sheets in her hands, holding back the tears. She watched the artist and hoped that what she was doing would help catch this guy. He looked so normal, so average, but what he had done...

What he had done to her paled with what he was doing, probably right then.

"How about this?" Angela asked, handing the pad back.

"That's, yeah. That's him."

"Okay," Angela said, taking the pad back and squeezing the younger woman's hand, "thanks. Don't worry. You've got the best on the case; they'll catch him."

Cathleen nodded. She sniffled, and smiled as Angela started to pack up her things.

"There was a girl - I think it was his daughter. I don't think she was much more than ten," Cathleen cried, tears staring to fall from her cheeks. She hadn't cried, not once, since she'd woken up in that RV. She couldn't stop herself now.

"What?" Angela asked, hoping this was some sick joke.

"Her name was Francis, I think. Franny. She saved us. She brought us food, and, and, water. He'd bring us pills, and make us take them. Franny wasn't supposed to do anything but bring us water. He'd talk to her...like...like he was training her. Telling her how to keep her hair from landing on us. It was sick. So sick."

"Did he...did he...?" Angela couldn't get the words out, her mind unable to completely form the image. She thought of Booth, of Brennan. This was about to get personal.

"He didn't hurt her. Even when he caught her feeding us, he just laughed. She cut our bonds, while Dave slept. She...she saved our lives."

Angela got up and hugged the woman, tears of her own ready to fall. It had been bad enough when this was a murdering freak with some pimply twenty-something assistant. That his murderer-in-training was a ten year old girl made her ill. She did everything she could to keep it together in front of Cathleen.

She kept from crying until she was out the door. A child. The person who had cleaned the bodies had been a little girl. Sliding into the vinyl chair just outside the door, she saw red. There were some things you just didn't do.

Standing up, she gritted her teeth and made her way to the elevator. She'd tell Sweets first, then she'd call Booth and Brennan. She didn't want to be in the room with Booth when she told him. That wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

As she stepped into the elevator the tears finally stopped to a trickle. She was usually better than this, had been.

She called Hodgins and made him put the phone up to Michael's ear before she went the rest of the way to the cafeteria to find Sweets.

She wanted to make sure Michael knew he was loved.

* * *

><p>Angela pulled up in front of the police station, ignoring Sweets squeak of protest as she pulled to an abrupt stop. Booth's reaction to her phone call had been about what she had expected. It had started with a string of curse words, followed by a crash and Brennan saying in the background that breaking things wouldn't help anybody. Her friend had then extracted the phone from her raging partner, and asked them to come over as soon as they could. She'd only broken half the traffic laws on the way over there, and had only made Sweets yelp once.<p>

Booth was pacing in front of the door, yelling into his cell phone. Brennan stood a half step away from him, glaring at him. She made her way over to Angela and Sweets as soon as she saw them, and led them around the angry agent and into the building.

"I don't believe I've ever seen him quite like this before. He is having a harder time handling this than if the child were deceased. He won't listen to me. He told me to go home." She said the last through gritted teeth.

"Oh, Sweetie, you know how he gets about kids. He'll be fine in a couple hours, his head back on straight. He's worried abo-," at Brennan's furtive look, Angela cleared her throat, "um, he's worried about, about the girl. We all are."

Brennan smiled weakly, sitting down at a table tucked away in the break room. Angela and Sweets sat across from her, Sweets keeping an eye on the door for Booth.

"I just...I feel a bit out of my element," Brennan said. Sweets looked over at her, and his eyes widened at the transformation that suddenly took over. As soon as she stopped speaking she sat up straighter. She squared her shoulders, looking both of them over. Where a moment before there had been a worried, uncomfortable woman thinking about the man she loved, now Dr. Temperance Brennan was back. And Sweets knew the look in her eyes. She had a plan.

Without a word, she jumped up from the table and headed like an arrow into the main office. Sweets rushed after her, Angela on his heels. They saw her meet up with Booth, who looked calmer.

They stopped in front of a scrawny bespectacled man after whispering to each other a moment.

"What do you have on the RV information?" Brennan asked, scowling down at the young man. Booth put a hand on her shoulder, and she continued, softly, "We need that information as soon as possible."

"I-it's n-not in y-yet. Ca-california Department of Transportation hasn't g-gotten back with us yet. W-we're just waiting on them," the young man stuttered.

Brennan scowled, ready to yell at the officer. Booth took her arm and pulled her away.

"There's nothing you can do." Booth paused as Sweets and Angela drew closer. "Hacker is trying to get things sped up, but even he can't get the DMV to do what they don't want."

"Do you want to talk about this anger, and how it's going to affect both your working relationship and–"

"Shut up, Sweets," Angela interrupted, "and can we get to why I rushed over here going almost 70?" She pulled her sketch pad out of her bag, handing it to Booth.

"Is this him?" he asked, opening it.

"Yeah, and the girl." She reached over and flipped the page for him, "I went back to Cathleen before I called you. I thought, if he doesn't show up in any of the databases, maybe we can find her on the missing kids list. I can't imagine it's his actual child."

"Thanks, Ang," Brennan said.

"I already sent it to Cam, hopefully she'll be better than Wendell at using the Angelatron to search missing persons."

"Finally! Getting somewhere," Booth said, rapping the wall with his knuckles and grinning.

* * *

><p>The Binghamton Police Department's conference room was also the interrogation room. This was a fact that more often than not led potential witnesses to clam up and ask for a lawyer. The proposed budget for the following year had an addition for the building that would add a proper room for questioning witnesses that was removed from the room where there questioned potential suspects.<p>

Few people understood the distinction, and thought that a room was a room, and it was the people in it that created the nature of it. Booth knew better. Most people did not want to be associated with criminals, and the thought that in a moment's notice the person talking to them could go from concerned officer to angry interrogator frightened them.

That was why, when Cindy Wrecker drove her dilapidated Ford pickup into town, he took her into a side office to talk to her.

She seemed very agitated, wringing her hands as she sat in the overstuffed wingback chair that sat across from the desk. Booth thought it must be a strange sort of masochist who had this office, because the desk chair was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever sat in. Giving up the chair, he moved to sit in the other wing-back

"What brings you into town, Ms. Wrecker?" he asked, after the obligatory introductions.

"Well, I was at the hospital. In Liberty, see, when that poor couple was taken there, before they got transferred here. And, well, the officer that came. No, the thing is. What I mean to say..."

"Take your time, Ms. Wrecker. It's okay. Did something happen while you were there?"

"Well, no, not exactly. I ain't the kinda woman who goes around listening in doorways, Agent Booth. I don't want you to get that opinion. But, I know a guy, and well, we talk. I own a diner in a small town, you understand, it's a bit like bein' a bartender. And, well, they started talking."

"Okay?" Booth leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs. This was going to take awhile.

And it did. She talked in circles for almost half an hour. She didn't say much in that time, and Booth was having a hard time keeping his attention from wandering. It wasn't that he felt it wasn't important. He knew it was; it just seemed like there was so much more he could be doing. She spoke at length and said very little.

"And, then, you see, he told me about the RV. The information you guys went and sent out, it came to Rosecoal, and I heard about it. And then I remembered I'd seen it."

Booth sat up straighter, leaning towards her. "You saw the RV, Ms. Wrecker? With California plates?"

"I think so. Oh, a few days ago, I think. A day or so before that poor couple showed up at my door. They were so beat up. There's no way I could maybe go and see them, do you think? I dunno if they'd remember me, or what, but I feel kinda responsible. 'Specially if they were trapped in that awful machine when I saw it."

"Where did you see it? Did they stop and eat at your diner?"

"Oh, no. I was getting groceries and whatnot, you see. The diner was bein' looked after by my daughter and we were kinda out of wheat bread, and pancake mix, I think. It's been a few days, Agent Booth. I just, I remember it cause of the California plates and there was this little girl. And that's really why I came by here, you see. It's just that, if that's the guy, and he has that little girl with him. She was barely more than a baby."

The kid again. No one had heard anything about this before, and now she was turning up everywhere. This poor child, trapped with a killer. He kept seeing Parker when he thought of her. How he'd feel if someone was dragging him across the country killing people. And then he thought of Brennan's baby, his baby, unborn, and growing safely in its mother's womb. Untouched by death. What would it think if it was raised by a killer.

He tossed the thought away. If the child was their second killer, she still showed remorse. She was a new entity. A new variable in the equation, as Brennan would put it.

"Thank you, Ms. Wrecker. Do you think you can remember the license plate?"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't see it." She stood, and he followed, offering his hand.

She shook it, accepted his pleasantries, and left, still wringing her hands.

* * *

><p>Brennan stood outside the police station doors watching the occasional car drive by. It was half past eleven and Angela and Sweets were already back at the hotel. Booth had been working one angle or another with the local PD since Cindy Wrecker had left nine hours before. He'd tried to get her to go with them, but she'd talked him into letting her stay by napping on the sofa in the chief's office.<p>

It had given her a cringe in her back and a splitting headache, but she wasn't at the hotel laying awake worrying that Booth was overworking himself.

It was funny how that had happened. Their roles hadn't revered, he still seemed convinced that every time she wasn't tucked in bed something horrible would happen, but now she knew how he felt. Sometime in the last four months he had become something to her that she could quite understand. It was more than a chemical reaction, but at the same time it wasn't. She had loved before, by her definition of it. A firing of neurons, the release of serotonin and and a feeling of euphoria. And it usually occurred during sex.

It was different with Booth, not that the sex wasn't amazing. It was more like she didn't need the sex to reach that warm blissful feeling. She'd go by his office and he'd smile and a haze, much like a post-coital glow, seemed to fall on her. She didn't understand it, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

With Booth, she'd found, sometimes she liked being in the dark.

She leaned her head back against the brick facade of the building and closed her eyes. She heard him approach before he spoke, and she smiled.

"Hey, Bones, lets get outta here."

She mumbled her consent, though it was muffled with a yawn. She tucked her arm in his, and they headed for the car. It hit her as she stepped off the curb.

The pain shot through her side, an arrow seeming to pierce her womb. She bit off a scream, letting go of Booth arm and hugging her stomach.

"Booth..." she whispered, biting her lip. He wrapped his arm around her, concern rolling off in waves.

"Are you okay? Come on, we'll go inside and call an ambulance." He started to turn her around back towards the building but she took a half step away.

"No, no. I'm okay now. I think I just stepped wrong." She shook it off, standing straighter.

"Oh no you don't. Come on, I'll drive you to the hospital then. You don't double over in pain because you stepped wrong."

"Just take me to the hotel, Booth, I'm fine."

Perhaps if she had said what was truly bothering her, things would have been different. If she had simply said that as the pain had receded the 'wrongness' that had been following her around had hit her full force they might have gone back inside. If she had said that she felt like she was being watched he might have been more alert.

Perhaps if she'd allowed him to take her inside, if only to sit down, the man in the bushes would have given up and gone elsewhere.

Perhaps if he had insisted that they go right to the car and hadn't stood there talking they would have already been safely locked inside the vehicle before the man worked up the courage to grab them so close to a police station.

But she didn't and he didn't.

And they were so focused on their baby, their baby that she felt move, and was sure was safe, that they didn't hear the man in the shadows creep up behind them.

They didn't know he was there until the world went black.


	13. Chapter 12: The Operandi in the Modus

**Authors Note: yay! early posting! no one said anything if they want these out more frequently or not, so I'll just play the whenever I remember card/**

**On another note, time is not linear on this, and it will jump back and forth slightly, and things may happen in this chapter that actually haven't yet in the next, and so on and so forth. i don't think it's anything huge, and its certainly not confusing, but if you're suddenly like 'hey! wait a minute, that guys already dead!' or something, the timeline is just wonky. ignore it, and pretend you read that part first :D**

* * *

><p>Angela knew she should have said something.<p>

When she woke up at four in the morning and Brennan still wasn't back, she'd assumed that they'd found a hotel room. At five when she'd gotten out of bed, it had dawned on her that Brennan, for all her talk the other night, would never have shared a room with Booth while on a case. At five thirty when she met Sweets downstairs, and he said Booth hadn't arrived back either, the first pangs of doubt had crept into her mind.

She told herself that it wasn't her place, and that where ever they were they wouldn't take kindly to her shoving her nose into their personal business. She'd gotten that lecture from Jack just a couple weeks ago and she wasn't going to soon forget it. The baby was their business, and so she kept her promise to Brennan, and didn't say a word.

Neither answered their cell phones, and that was what prompted Sweets to take them to the station. The fear had hit when they drove into the lot and Booth's rental was still sitting there. Half an hour after arriving it became clear that something had happened. She'd called Jack, who'd called Cam, who'd said she could be out there in an hour. It had taken another twenty minutes to convince her that there was nothing she could do there, and she was better suited to staying in DC, in case they suddenly showed up. Best to have someone there who could give them a good talking to.

When lunch time came and went and there was still no sign of them, she began to regret the decision. She began to think that something had happened to the baby, but she'd have gotten a call if that was the case. And as the clock continued to tick its way through the day it became clear that they hadn't just decided to take some quality time together, or run off on a lead.

It was ten past twelve when Sweets put in the call to the Hoover building. Angela sat in an ugly green plastic chair that looked like it should have been tossed out sometime in the sixties. She kept looking at her phone, hoping it would ring. That Brennan would be on the other end and this would all be laughed over. That she would wake up and find that it was all a dream.

Sweets paced as he spoke. He was transferred half a dozen times, put on hold, and finally hung up on. He called back and asked to be transferred to BSU. In minutes he was talking to Agent Barry.

If this was a joke, Booth would be more that a little angry. Brennan had told her what the profiler had said, and she'd been very proud of Booth's restraint. If this was a joke, she'd bear the burden with Sweets for calling him in. If it wasn't, calling Barry in meant the best possible chance of finding them. It hadn't taken long to put together that Mr. Jar of Hearts was the most likely person to have them.

If it wasn't a joke.

Angela prayed it was a joke.

Sweets wandered into another room, still talking to Barry. Angela bit her lip and rubbed her temples. Unable to sit still any longer she stood and took up Sweets' pacing. She spotted a young officer scurrying past and hurried after her.

"Excuse me?" she called, stopping the young woman in her tracks.

"Can I help you ma'am?"

"I was wondering if you'd gotten anything back on the RV? Um, Agent Booth, from the FBI, he was here yesterday looking into it?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I haven't heard anything. I'm sure as soon as they have anything you'll know." The woman rushed off again, heading out the door and climbing into the passenger seat of a cruiser waiting outside.

Angela grumbled as she turned back, spotting Sweets just getting off the phone.

"So?" she said, eyes wide, hoping they'd suddenly turned up in DC.

"Agent Barry will be here in a couple hours. Let's, um, see what we can find before then?"

Sweets wrung his hands, looking lost. He wasn't an agent, wasn't trained to handle this, but Angela was glad he was there.

She was fairly certain she'd have ended up crying in a ball before she ever thought to get the former case profiler to come help.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Booth thought, when consciousness seeped back into his brain, was that this was exactly how he wanted to wake up forever. He was naked, there was a warm, naked body that smelled like Brennan curled up against him.<p>

The second thing he thought, which flittered past his brain moments later, was that his head ached and he couldn't remember a thing from the night before. He chastised himself for over doing it – if he had overdone it. He wasn't entirely sure, but he felt mildly hungover.

The third thing brought his eyes open. He couldn't move. He was bound to the woman in his arms, and the most he could do was lift his head. His muscles started to cramp, and he felt mildly dizzy.

A few broken memories came to the surface as he struggled to open his eyes. He remembered Brennan stopping on the way to the car, doubled in pain, and he remembered a soft crunch from behind him before the world turned black.

He opened his eyes.

He closed them again.

He opened his eyes.

It was the same thing as before, and what little hope that had built up when he realized they were probably in the killers' RV vanished. It was not an RV.

Rough hewn boards, long smoothed down with age, rose up on the other side of Brennan's head. There was a single, small window, through which light filtered through and came to rest in dust filled bands on them. He couldn't turn to see the other side of the room, but could just make out the door if he lifted his head and turned it. It was open just a crack, but he couldn't hear anything from down the hall.

Brennan still hadn't woken up, but he could feel her breathing. It was steady and calm, and he questioned the wisdom of waking her. The little logic he had picked up from her, and long years as a soldier and agent, won out. If he had been hit over the head, chances are she had been too. If she was asleep now it was probably already too late to wake her up if she had been concussed, but letting her sleep longer wouldn't be any help.

"Bones? Bones, come on Bones, wake up." He tried to move, to shake her awake and a wave of dizziness passed over him. He struggled with consciousness, his stomach cramping. He regretted skipping the second half of the egg salad sandwich Brennan had brought him what must have been hours before.

"Mmmmnmmmnnnn," she said, trying to bury her head in the pillow, "'larm hasn't gone off. I don't need to be in for hours."

"Bones, you gotta get up. You have a head injury. Open your eyes." The dizziness hadn't passed but he fought against it.

He felt her stir, and then try to stretch. He bit back a chuckle at her startled yelp when she discovered she couldn't. He felt her breathing quicken, her heart begin to race, and he quickly shushed her.

"Booth," she whispered hoarsely, "Booth, where are we?"

"I don't know, but we'll get out of it. Come on, we get out of everything."

The truth began to dawn on her, and he felt her muscles tighten. He wished he could see her face.

"We're not in the RV. His MO has changed. The likelihood of discovery is very slim, Booth."

"Shush, Bones. It's a speed bump, but we'll make it. He picked the wrong couple to grab."

She was silent for a moment, then whispered, "Thank you," before going to work on trying to loosen their bonds.

* * *

><p>Binghamton had an airport, or rather Edicott did. Rather, it had a three hundred yard string of asphalt that wouldn't accept anything much larger than a twin engine. This ribbon saw a Cessna 182 fly in, and pull into an open hanger. Agent Barry hopped down and went through a post flight check before grabbing his bags and jumping into the waiting taxi.<p>

The call from Sweets had been a surprise, the order from Hacker to get up here even more so. It was a welcome surprise. Since the moment Booth had slammed the door to his office he'd been regretting every word that had passed his lips. The bodies at the Jeffersonian had been an honest mistake to begin with, and he had been in the wrong to hope the oversight would lead to some extra evidence, but it had been anger that had got him talking.

Anger that some trumped up kid from Major Crime thought that BSU would honestly try and use one of the FBI's greatest assets without consulting her first. Booth's record with Dr. Brennan spoke for itself. And if he was sleeping with her that was his own damn business, which Mrs. Barry had made very clear when he'd called.

Maybe that was what had upset him. Booth acting like he was some womanizer. It wasn't like the younger agent to do that sort of thing, and he knew the rumors that floated around the building. At fifty-three years old he'd heard it all and most of the time it didn't bother him. He knew that his younger years would haunt him until the day he retired, but he'd been married over thirty years, and had three grown children – mostly grown, his baby girl was a senior in high school – and most of the time he could forget the torrid affair he'd had with the secretary when he was twenty-five.

He'd tried to make it up to Booth by telling Hacker the truth. The assistant director had seem surprised by his confession of accusing Booth of an affair with his partner, although he'd made sure to talk to Hacker after Booth had left. The result hadn't been what he'd expected and he still felt guilty about it all. He was still indebted.

Maybe being here could fix things.

The taxi wound through the streets of Binghamton. As New York went it was a smaller town, kept alive by the twin colleges that called it home, and it was only a couple of minutes before he pulled up in front of the police station.

This Dr. Sweets that had called, he knew him only from this case. Smart, very young, and happy. People often teased him about how much he smiled, but he liked being happy, and liked people that were happy.

Sweets wasn't with Behavioral Sciences. He wasn't an agent, as far as Barry could tell. He worked with agents, tried to keep them from throwing themselves out of windows. Being in the FBI wasn't like working for some mid-level corporation. The stress level for the average field agent often left them with gastronomical problems enough to keep Tums in business indefinitely. And it had come through the grapevine that Dr. Sweets did a fairly decent job of keeping agents stress free.

Realizing he probably should have gone by the hotel before coming to the police station, Barry paid the driver and threw his overnight bag over his shoulder. A number of uniforms scurried around the parking lot, congregating around a rather ugly colored car with a rental sticker. He kept an eye out for the young doctor, but didn't see him floating about the car, or anywhere outside the building.

He thought about going inside first, finding the psychologist and then coming out to see the scene, but thought better of it. He wasn't an investigator per se, but stepping into a criminal's shoes worked best when he could see the aftermath. He didn't like to think that way. Not about another agent. Booth was a good agent, for all his short fused temper.

The news vans were just out of sight around the corner on the street. The cab had woven a wide path around them and he hadn't seen them. He put on his best serious face and glanced at them, then met up with the only person not in a uniform. The detective shook his hand and then tilted his head toward the scene.

They had moved the car.

There was a bottle of pills sitting where the car used to be.

'Stop looking' written in sidewalk chalk beside it.

* * *

><p>Brennan fought back another panic attack. They had been coming with increasing regularity over the last hour. She'd been unable to make much of a dent in the ropes binding her to Booth. No. She hadn't made a single dent in the ropes. They were just as tight as they had been when she'd woken up in the early morning. But that wasn't what caused the sudden waves of dizziness and rapid heartbeat.<p>

It was Booth.

He'd passed out about an hour ago, and nothing she'd been able to do was able to get him to gain full consciousness. She felt his breath on her neck, and that was what enabled her to get the attacks under control, but untreated head injuries on a man with his history spelled a disaster she didn't want to think about. She'd sat through a coma before, and that had been hard enough. The thought that he'd slip into a coma now and that this time he would never wake up, that there was no hope of his waking up made her ill.

Her breathing under control, her thoughts turned to her unborn child.

The thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open. She couldn't see it from where she lay without straining to turn, but she could hear it. The hinges were squeaky, and ground against her eardrum, making her wince. She smiled though, as the sound also brought Booth awake for a short moment.

"We'll...out...Bones," he slurred.

She shushed him as a man moved into her sight. She looked at his face, studying it. His nose had been broken, she couldn't tell with the cartilage still there, but she wouldn't dismiss it being at least a decade old break. His eyes were widely spaced, his mouth oversized. His black hair was long and stringy, pulled back in a short ponytail, but most of it had fallen out of the band and swung in his face.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," the man said, holding up a bottle of water.

"You won't get away with this," Brennan said more calmly than she felt.

The man laughed, shoving a dirty, bony finger into her mouth. He pried her jaw open, and she winced from the pain. With his other hand he put the bottle down on the bed, and then poured a powder into her mouth. She struggled, but she was conscious of her child, and he was much larger than she was. Leaving the finger in her mouth, he unscrewed the cap of the bottle with one hand and poured some down her throat. He shoved her jaw shut, making her teeth snap together. He held her mouth closed, recapped the bottle and when he saw she hadn't swallowed, plugged her nose.

She swallowed, and satisfied that she couldn't bring it back up he moved around to the other side of the bed. Panting, she laid her head down and fought back tears. She'd held strong this long, she wasn't about to break down because of psychopath manhandled her. She was better than that.

His treatment of Booth was a bit kinder, his victim mostly unconscious. He whistled as he drugged them.

"Are you thirsty? I'll bring you both another bottle, with a straw. We don't want you to be thirsty," he laughed.

Booth stirred, and attempted to stretch again. He groaned, opening his eyes.

"What? Bones?"

The man chuckled.

"It's okay Booth," she whispered, the tears finally winning.

The man laughed again, and closed the door. She heard him walking down the hallway, laughing the whole way to himself. She felt cold, sick.

It only made her feel worse when Booth attempted to comfort her.


	14. Chapter 13: Child in the Story

Sweet had suffered a minor breakdown when he saw the message under the car. Until that point he had convinced himself that his missing friends had simply gotten a room together somewhere and would be back by dinner. So, while Angela arranged for the bottle of pills to be sent to the Jeffersonian he had locked himself in an office and tried not to hyperventilate. It was here that Agent Barry found him a couple hours later. Sufficiently calm at that point, he left himself be taken into the interrogation room to hear Barry's take on the unexpected disappearance of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan.

"It's a sudden and rash diversion from his typical methodology. He's going to be panicked and more likely to make mistakes," Sweets said, sliding the paper with a breakdown of what they knew from the night before.

"I wouldn't be so sure. He hasn't escalated in all this time, and I don't think he has now. He came to New York to dump the bodies and find new victims. That's been done. That the Joneses were alive and that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan weren't taken from a campground isn't an issue for him. We – Booth – made it difficult for him to follow his set patterns. Rather than escalating I find it more likely to think he's evolving. That will keep us from getting complacent," Barry replied.

"Of course," Sweets said, mildly in awe. He'd never seen Barry at work like this. He was not a profiler, per se, except when Booth needed him to be, though he was certified within the Bureau and watching the master at work lifted some of the fear he'd been harboring.

He was aware of a falling out between the missing agents and Barry but was uncertain of the details. Barry had convinced him Booth wouldn't mind. Barry was the best.

Barry looked over what little they had and both psychologists – one an agent the other a doctor – fell into the sort of silence that breeds revelation. Brennan would have recognized it even if she wouldn't have acknowledged it.

A few locals came and went, Angela stopped by with coffee and bagels, but for the most part they were undisturbed.

A picture of a man emerged. Middle aged, once married now either divorced or widowed, a transient. He was capable of holding down longer jobs when needed, but liked the road. The child was an outlier, something more difficult to explain at first, but Barry had her falling into place as well. She was the last vestige of a life this man had lost. He had placed her upon a pedestal, and most likely felt that what he was doing he did for her.

It was possible he had mental problems, most likely schizophrenia, and suffered from paranoid delusions. The hearts he took and replaced were his children. He was protecting them, immortalizing them, preventing them from aging as he saw the child age.

In parlance, he was sick.

Just after five Angela returned, bringing dinner this time, and Hodgins via video phone.

"We have a name, guys," the entomologist said, though only a drooling baby face could be seen on the phone's screen.

"What did you find, Dr. Hodgins?" Barry asked, grinning as the baby was moved out of sight of the camera.

"The pills were a match for what was found in the victim's stomachs, more or less. Same chemical composition, different lot. We can't tie it directly to the crime as it is."

"Get on with it, Jack," Angela half shouted, falling into a chair.

"Anyway, Lazerpill had a few hundred thousand sample bottles like this one floating around when they left the states. About three weeks before they closed doors for good, guess what went missing? About a dozen sample boxes, or about twelve hundred bottles. And then, a week before, another two dozen disappeared. They did a rather thorough investigation, this stuff is pretty toxic. And this bottle was one from the missing box."

"Yes, Dr. Hodgins?" Barry asked, unsure exactly how Booth put up with these intelligent types.

"Robert Yates was the prime suspect, but they didn't have enough proof. They've never turned up on the black market, so the California PD really just sort of forgot about them. I double checked Booth's list of RV owners? He was one that he couldn't get a hold of."

"And how exactly did you get this information, Dr Hodgins?"

"I name-dropped, Agent Barry," he bit back, hanging up to the sound of Angela chuckling.

* * *

><p>A small, high voice drifted down the hall into the bedroom, "O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in it!" The voice changed pitch, "'Tis new to thee."<p>

The voice swelled, and fell, switched voices, tenors, tones. A single person, working through a play by themselves. It fell on the figures on the bed, waking them from the fitful, hungry sleep they'd just fallen into. They struggled to wakefulness, aware of nothing but the voice and how weak they felt.

Booth listened as the voice slipped into Prospero's ending soliloquy, clapping to herself in all the right places. It brought a smile, strained and painful, to his lips. There was an innocence to the voice that gave him hope. Maybe not for them, the hours had slowly chipped away his confidence that they would be found. He listed his head, turning so he could see the door. It was cracked open, and he could just make out movement in the hallway.

The voice was joined by another, but it was projecting like the girl's had been. He couldn't make out the words, nor the daughter's reply. He laid his head back down, and began work on the bonds of his hands again.

"Don't," came the whispered words from the woman beside him.

"What's wrong, Bones?"

She chuckled.

"Besides this. I don't work at these, we don't get out. I'm taking you to dinner tonight."

"There's no point." She sounded so defeated. He berated himself for his earlier thoughts that they wouldn't escape, that they were already as good as dead. If she had picked up on them, he didn't know what he would do. He had to be strong for her, for their child. It wasn't that he didn't think she was strong, she was stronger than he was, but it was his duty. His place to protect them.

"Of course there is. Come on, Bones. We'll get out of this, we just have to try."

"You usually brush in and save me. You're here. No brushing," she mumbled.

"It's sweep. I sweep in and save you. And I don't need to, we'll save each other."

"It's unlikely the baby will survive the night," she said suddenly after a few minutes of silence.

He jerked, both of them moving slightly on the bed. She grunted as his bound hands jabbed into her breast bone. He wanted to apologize, but the way she'd deadpanned the death of their child scared him. Her voice was emotionless. No tears, no pain, no grief, just the facts, ma'am, thank you.

"What do you mean? Of course it will, Bones. We'll get out of here and the baby will be fine."

"Booth, the drugs, the baby is speeding up the process. I...it's unlikely either the baby or I will make it. I just...I want you to know...I...," she whispered, slowly breaking into tears.

"I know, Bones. I know. But we'll be fine. You, the baby, all of us. Don't worry." He kissed the back of her head, the only place he could reach.

He felt sick, even as he said it. The thought of losing them both, of waking up and her not being there, it turned his stomach. He had to get them out, there was no other way. He would not watch them die.

He bit back a scream, not wanting the kidnapper to come back in, feed them more of the pills that were killing his partner and unborn child.

He sent up a quick prayer, and then another, and another.

To St. Joseph, for his child.

To St. Gerard, for Brennan.

To God.

* * *

><p>Sunlight filtered through the trees, the light dappled on the grass below. Through the trees people milled, cars came and went, people shopped. The grocery store loomed over the tiny group of trees where a dozen men sat crouched. Agent Barry had his eyes plastered only on the large RV at the back of the parking lot. The others let their eyes scan over everybody. Their target had gone inside a little over three minutes before, but they were still waiting on confirmation to seize the vehicle.<p>

The information had come in from an anonymous call to the tip line fifteen minutes before. Someone had whispered into the phone that he was going to be here, and then had hung up. The operator had been so confused she almost hadn't brought the information to them. The caller had had enough information though that a team had been sent out. And it had proved correct.

The RV sat gleaming in the sun, California plates catching the light and reflecting it back at them. And Angela's sketch had been dead on for the man who had walked inside.

But there had been no movement in the RV in the last three minutes. No one peeking through the windows, the machine hadn't moved, rocked, shifted or even looked suspicious. So they were waiting for confirmation on the registration before they moved.

With a squawk from the walkie-talkie they got it. Yates, California license and registration.

"Alright, let's move," Barry whispered, "According to David Jones they were kept in the back. We're going to move in and get them out. Get the kid if you can, but don't hurt her." They moved out, Barry making a quick call to the plain clothes inside to try and keep Yates busy.

They circled the RV, a few breaking off to take care of crowd control. Barry silently approached the door, two men flanking him, guns drawn. He could hear a crowd beginning to form behind him, but tuned it out. This was it.

There was a shout behind him. He half turned to see Yates being escorted out of the supermarket. So much for the element of surprise. He was cuffed, and being led by the plain clothes officer Barry had spoken to earlier. Yates was in an uproar. He was shouting at the top of his lungs, though Barry couldn't make out anything intelligible. Barry watched him get walked over to the police cruiser that was just pulling up and get placed inside.

Then he put Yates out of his mind, and turned back towards the RV.

He held up a hand, slowly lowering fingers as the other hand reached for the door.

Three. Two. One.

He yanked open the door and he moved inside, followed by a wave of other men. With well trained efficiency they moved through the RV, calling for Booth. For Dr. Brennan. There was no answer. On the kitchenette there were stacks of plastic molds, metal tools and cleaning materials. Opening a cupboard, Barry saw a complicated contraption that he could only assume was the machine listed on the warrant – the mold creator.

He made his way to the back, the now crowded vehicle being searched through by the rest of the team. He pushed back the curtain to find an empty bed.

"God dammit!" he shouted, storming out. He marched across the parking lot, and threw open the door of the cruiser. "Where are they, you asshole?" He was tempted to reach in and grab the man out of the backseat, but held his temper in check just enough to keep things slightly civil.

"I haven't any idea who the hell you're talking about! Why the hell are you searching my RV? That warrant is a joke! Go to hell!" Yates spat at him but missed. With a curse, Barry slammed the door.

No girl.

No Booth.

No Brennan.

Nothing at all.

He slammed his hand down on the top of car. He felt like it was over. He felt numb as he made his way back to the RV to finish carrying out the warrant.

* * *

><p>The sun wasn't completely up yet. Brennan had fallen into a fitful sleep after her confession. That she was still alive to see the first pink bands in the sky out the tiny window cheered her more than she really wanted to admit. She thought, as she did every morning, whatever the circumstances, at what caused the change in color in the sky. The ocean was blue because the sky was blue, and the sky was blue because the light rays broke at just the right angle for the human eye to see a pure cerulean above their heads. Except at day break, and dusk. The light hit the sky at a different angle as it crept above the horizon. The light refracted at a different wavelength and the eye interpreted it as pinks and purples, deep red and oranges.<p>

It was enough to keep Angela busy for a lifetime.

A slow peaceful waking was cut short by the sudden banging of the door. Booth attempted to sit upright, but was caught partially up by the bonds that held them together, and they both tumbled into a painful heap on the bed. The exertion left them both panting. The drugs, which came sporadically from the oily man with the singsong voice, were starting to affect muscle mass. Next would be the bones.

Her bones. The only constant in her life since she'd entered graduate school all those years before. This monster was going to affect her bones.

If she'd had the energy she would have screamed. As it was, keeping her eyes open was about the extent of her ability. Lack of exertion was prolonging their death, Booth, at least, wasn't using as many calories as he usually did and his body was compensating easily to the drugs consuming them instead.

She hoped that at the very least, if he got free, he wouldn't blame her for the loss of their child. She should have eaten more at lunch.

The door creaked open and a young girl walked in. Booth lifted his head to look at her, but Brennan just laid still, fighting the tears that threatened. The next round of pills would be her last.

The girl looked to be about eight, perhaps a little older. Her black hair was bushed silk straight down her back and held in place with a pink ribbon. She had bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the pale light that had begun filtering through the window.

"Daddy's gone," she whispered, biting her lip, "So I thought I might bring you breakfast. I'm not allowed to use the stove, so it's all cold. I got, um, apples, and um, cold pancakes from yesterday. And I brought some milk, and some gummy bears." She smiled brightly, and for half a moment Brennan forgot where she was and just smiled back at the girl. "My names Franny, by the way. Daddy wouldn't let the other people talk, and kept them locked up. But he went to the store, and he told me to bring you water. I thought you might like something else, too."

Brennan didn't know what to say, she gaped at the child like a fish out of water and the girl chuckled. She climbed up onto the bed beside them, ignoring their nakedness. Booth blushed several different shades of red and tried to get her to leave.

"I can't go, silly. If Daddy comes back and you're gone, he won't let me go to the library. And then I won't be able to get another book. So, you're just gonna have to let me feed you. Daddy won't know."

She'd cut up the apple into little pieces, and, wrapping each one in a torn piece of pancake fed her captives.

Brennan would have tried to talk to her, to convince her to let them go, but the girl hardly ever even stopped to breathe. She chatted constantly, about what she was currently reading (16th and 17th century plays), to her upcoming birthday (her 10th, which surprised Brennan greatly), to how she'd suggested putting them in this cabin rather than driving about in the RV, since it was ever so much more comfortable than the bed in the RV.

They ate everything, and Franny brought them some water, brushed Brennan's hair, and promised to come visit them again.

She skipped as she left the room.

Brennan lay in the early morning light after she'd left, the hollow ache gone from her belly, and hope falling around her.

And then Franny returned.

She was carrying a white bottle.

Brennan could just make out the name on the label.

Lazerpill.


	15. Chapter 14:Wrong Place at the Right Time

Agent Barry stood outside the interrogation room. Angela and Sweets had been called and were on their way, but for the moment Robert Yates sat alone while Barry stood outside the door and composed himself. Mostly, he just wanted to go in there and bang the man's head against the wall, but knew that wasn't possible. It was a nice dream, though.

Within seconds of sitting down Yates had called for a lawyer and the waiting game had begun. A waiting game that only Booth and Brennan could lose.

The calls had been placed, and in the meantime Yates sat sipping a Diet Coke and waving at the two-way glass.

Barry imagined the man's head pressed against that glass, a little bit of drool dribbling down as he confessed to everything and told them where the missing agent and scientist were. It was a nice day dream, the sort that Barry's wife hit him upside the head for telling to other people.

"I should just go in there, slam him around a bit until he spills his guts. Make this all go away," he muttered to himself.

"That's probably not a good idea, Agent Barry," one of the locals said, handing him a cup of coffee. "Not that I don't think that its a bad idea, just that I don't think that it'll turn out the way you and I are thinking it will."

Barry grunted in response, and took a sip of the coffee. Police station coffee tasted a bit like road tar, and went down just about the same. It coated his tongue, and he winced as it burned off a couple of taste buds.

"Why is it that the criminals get the good stuff?" he asked with a sigh, banging a fist on the desk. Yates looked right at him, smirking as he took another drink of his soda.

"I can get you a diet if you want it," the officer, a young man named Royals, offered.

"No. I want his damn head on a platter. Asshole."

The officer laughed, just as the man stood up from the table and walked to the glass.

"How long will this take? I have things I need to do. Look, I've changed my mind, I'll waive the damn lawyer. I just want to get outta here, already. Okay? So, really, lets get things going?"

Barry and the officer exchanged glances. They looked at the suspect banging on his own reflection, then back at each other, then back at the suspect again. Matching grins split both their faces.

"You heard that, didn't you sir?" the younger man asked.

"I think I did. We have the paperwork ready, yes?"

"We do." He held up folder, containing the waiver.

Together, they walked out and around the corner into the interrogation room.

Yates was back in his seat, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. His smile was crooked as they walked in, his eyes dark.

Barry had dealt with serial killers for most of his career. He'd been an agent with Behavioral Science since not long after it was first founded. He'd seen the old basement office, he'd watched as agents, like Booth, mocked what he did, and then beg for his expertise. He knew killers. He knew the look, the way the smile wouldn't make it to their eyes. The over-confidence. He knew it all.

And it was sitting in front of him now.

* * *

><p>There was a loud crash somewhere in the house. Booth, once again, tried to shoot into a sitting position and failed. Brennan hadn't so much as stirred. She'd fallen into a fitful sleep after Francis had given them their pills. She'd chatted incessantly, gave them some more milk, then trotted off whistling. He'd watched her go, feeling a little light headed himself. He hadn't let himself fall back asleep.<p>

Noise continued to drift back to the bedroom, and he relaxed as the sounds fitted together to pots and pans being wielded by prepubescent hands. He held back the panic that threatened to rise for the hundredth time since he'd first woken up. It wouldn't do for him to fall apart with Brennan beside him. He had to be strong for her; he had to continue to think clearly for her. He had to get them out. Had to get _her_ out.

He growled deep in his throat, wishing he could flop back on his back and scream. It tore through him, this feeling of helplessness. It ate at his soul, and for a moment an image of Pac-man chewing away at his brain passed by his eyes. He'd chuckle, but he didn't have the strength. He hardly had the strength to continue work on the bonds. Franny had tightened them with a chuckle, and after seeing that with some effort they could sit up together, had taken a long bit of rope and tied it to the foot board. The knots were childish, and probably weak, but in his current state he wouldn't be able to get very far.

He watched the back of Brennan's head, felt the soft rise and fall of her stomach, and wished he could change so many things.

He thought of Parker, of his amazing son who would have to live without a father. He'd never see his son graduate high school, never see him raise a family, never see his boy become a man. It hurt more than he'd thought it would, knowing that he'd never see his boy grow up. He thought about Rebecca, and how he'd never really given her the credit she deserved for turning Parker into such an amazing young man.

For awhile he thought of Parker's future without him. The sad truth was that it probably wouldn't be much different than it was now. He didn't see much of his son, though more as he'd gotten older. He hoped that when all this was over, and he'd come to the conclusion that it was unlikely he was going to make it through this, the sharp ache in his stomach proving it, Parker would eventually forgive him. This was supposed to be their weekend.

He chuckled soundlessly at the thought. The brain was such a strange thing the way it jumped around. It seemed worse than normal now that the only part of him that seemed to working properly was his brain. Brennan would be so proud.

Franny dropped something else in the other room and Brennan stirred beside him. He tensed, waiting for her to wake up completely, but she didn't. He took that as a good thing, she wasn't burning extra calories.

His thoughts turned to Franny, probably making cold egg salad or something in the kitchen. He'd hoped he could save her, he'd hoped that he could get her away from this place, from this life that was molding her into something she didn't want to be. It was gradual and slippery, oozing into her pores as she lived with her murderous father. Thinking of her drained that last little bits of hope from him.

They were dead.

It was as simple as that.

There would be no daring escape, no sudden enlightened moment when they found the way out. His child would die, his partner would die, he would die. If they were lucky, their bodies would be discovered and maybe the rest of the team would be able to track down Franny and her dad.

Maybe there could be justice.

He closed his eyes against the morning sun, letting the lethargy that he'd been fighting take over.

He didn't hear Brennan wake up. He was already fast asleep when she stirred and looked out the window at the cloudless sky. He didn't feel her try and stretch. He didn't hear her whisper to him. Didn't hear the love in her voice, the hope. The faith that was there, though she'd adamantly deny it, that even with him there, something, someone would save them.

Didn't hear, "I'm here."

* * *

><p>It had been hours since Robert Yates had waived his right to his lawyer.<p>

In that time he had confessed to a series of minor crimes that neither the New York police nor the FBI could do anything about.

He'd laughed at them a lot.

And he'd pointedly refused to answer any and all questions related to the kidnapping of a federal agent and consultant.

They had nothing.

Sweets had shown up about an hour before. He had been working on getting things sent over to the Jeffersonian. Angela hadn't been feeling well, the stress getting to her more than she seemed likely to admit. He'd told her to go lay down before the raid had happened, and hadn't had the heart to wake her when the news had come in that Booth and Brennan hadn't been there. He thought maybe that wasn't the wisest decision, but he knew she had a baby at home, and didn't think her getting sick over this would help her son any.

He was tempted to hit his head against the wall.

"We can work with you," Barry said, "if you work with us. Anything you can tell us, Mr. Yates. You must have seen them. We have your RV across the street at the time they were taken, surely you saw something."

The killer just smiled, smug in his silence.

The silence was broken by the door flying open. A wild eyed Angela stormed in, terrifying in her rage.

"They weren't there! And you didn't tell me?" she screamed.

"Shush," Sweets whispered as everyone in the interrogation room turned to look at the mirror.

"You should have woken me the minute any word came back," she said, quieter. "I told you to. Sweets, come on. Work with me."

"I thought you needed your sleep. It's been a rough two days."

"Sweets, you can't just do that. She's my best friend. I need to know what's going on, I need to know if she's okay."

"And you will. I mean it's just lik-"

"She's pregnant!" she shouted, drawing more looks from the people in the other room. They hadn't heard exactly what she'd shouted, it had at least been quiet enough to end up just a muffled shout on the other side.

Sweets gaped, his jaw bottoming out. He looked a bit like a fish out of water, and if she hadn't been so pissed she might have laughed.

"Close your mouth or you'll catch flies," she muttered finally.

He obliged with difficulty. He thought he'd handled that his friends becoming lovers right under his nose and his not noticing. This was a bit more than he could wrap his mind around.

"How...how far...?" he trailed off.

"Um, sixteen weeks, I think. I don't know. Why would I know that?"

Sweets cursed, which took her mostly by surprise. She hadn't even known that he knew that kind of language, let alone how to use it properly in a complete and useful sentence. However, she agreed with his sentiment.

* * *

><p>Dear Diary,<p>

I know I normally write in the evenings, but Daddy isn't home yet, and his guests are sleeping. They don't sleep as much as the last ones. Daddy was really mad when I let them go; he said he hadn't taught them everything they needed to know. I asked him if he could teach me what he was teaching them, but he said I'm too little. I'm nine years old! I'm almost ten! I am not too little!

I told him so. But he grounded me.

He grounded me!

Which is why I'm stuck here writing to you, diary, while Daddy goes to the store. I really really really really really wanted to go so I could pick out my cake for tomorrow, but he said I had to stay 'cause I don't know how to keep my mouth shut.

Meanie.

The lady, she said her name was Tempe, but the man calls her bones which is funny! She seems really sick, more than the man and more than Daddy's last friends. I know I shouldn't have let them go, but when the first ones fell asleep and didn't wake up I got really sad. Remember, dairy? Yeah. So, anyway, she's really sick and I think she's gonna fall asleep and not wake up.

It really bites.

But Daddy says it's nice cause then they go someplace where they can't hurt anyone anymore. And all Daddy's friends have hurt people.

He says they use their power to make other people unhappy, and that's not very nice. Not at all. So, I try not to cry when his friends go away, 'cause it's helping other people, but I don't think Grammy would like it.

I miss my Grammy. I didn't have a diary when I was living with Grammy cause I was always so happy and I didn't have to tell anyone anything, except Grammy, and she always always listened no matter what. Daddy gets mad when I try and tell him I don't think we should be making his friends sleep so long. That maybe the policemen and stuff should take care of them instead. Maybe we could just tell them what his friends are doing and they can make it better.

But he says the lawyers'll make it all bad again.

I thank you, good people; there shall be no money, all shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord.

The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers!

Is Daddy Jack Cade then? Is my Daddy king of the murderers and the killers and the thieves and the imposters? Is my Daddy a villain?

I don't want him to be. I want him to be right, but they don't wake up.

And that means they're dead.

Like Grammy was dead when I woke up that morning, and found Daddy at the kitchen table. Like Mama was dead when I was three and Daddy took me to Grammy's. All the people Daddy's kept here in the last year, all of them are dead!

Only, I saved some. I got them out, 'cause they were weak and sleeping, and I didn't want to walk away again. I didn't want to try and shake them awake again.

They never last more than a few days.

It's almost lunchtime, Diary, and Daddy isn't home. He shoulda been home. Maybe that means I can let them out, but I don't think TempeBones can walk anymore. She hasn't woken up in a couple hours.

I think I'll take them some cold pepperoni and cheese. And I'll make myself a pepperoni sandwich; that sounds yummy. Daddy isn't home so I can take them food, but I gotta take the pills too, or Daddy will be mad.

And then I'll read to them. I still don't completely understand the Tempest.

I hope they get out okay, diary.

I hope I can help them more than I think I can.

Yours silently,

Franny


	16. Chapter 15: Calm in the Understanding

Barry smiled at Yates. The suspect didn't even look at him, nor at the door when Sweets had come in. He kept his eyes trained firmly on the wall behind their heads. His smile was similar to Barry's, knowing and smug.

"Would it be possible for me to get another Coke?" Yates asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Of course," Barry turned and waved at the mirror towards the now empty view room, "it will be just a few minutes. Now, what can you tell us about what happened the other night."

Yates laughed and shook his head. He crossed his arms, his smile growing. Sweets glanced over at Barry and shrugged his shoulders. They'd tried yelling. They'd tried being nice. There was little left to be done.

Barry's smile fell, but only for half a second. He scribbled a word on a piece of paper and slid it over to the young psychologist. Sweets shook his head. It was too dangerous. Barry tapped the paper again, nodding toward the suspect.

"Oy, what is that? What are you writing? I wanna see it," Yates said, dropping the front legs of his chair back onto the ground and sitting up straight.

"Your daughter, were you there the day she was born?" Barry asked. Sweets sat back and tried to keep his face blank. This was going to backfire.

"'Course. But you just keep her out of this."

"Were you there while your wife was pregnant? She died in , what seven years ago now, did she not?" Yates didn't seem to be uncomfortable at first inspection, but Barry had been in this room with him long enough to see the slight change in his eyes.

"Nah. I was a truck driver. I already told you that. The Lazerpill people, they laid me off. Couldn't get another job drivin' trucks; the economy's in the shitter. I made it home for her birth, a'right? I was there."

Barry had picked up on this before. Yates was cold and calculated when it came to almost any subject. He didn't like talking about his daughter, though, and he didn't like talking about his wife. It was a crack in his armor that early on they had avoided for one very simple reason. The walls didn't stay down if they suddenly changed the subject. He was his cold, calm self the minute the question didn't involve Francis Yates.

"Children are so innocent, aren't they? Women aren't. Women, women are all freaks. And the men they go with. Dear God, how can anyone be so stupid as to stay with a woman?" Barry saw Yates eyes going distant. Saw the way his body shifted. "Francis is innocent. Just a little girl, lost in a world of guilt."

"I said leave her outta this!" It was a start.

"Of course, of course. I'm sorry. You know, I told you, Dr. Brennan is pregnant. Another innocent child brought into this guilty world. Killing the guilty, now there's nothing wrong with that. That's a fine thing to do. Get them out of here."

Yates' eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond.

"Francis killing Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, I can accept that. It's good, she needs to learn the guilty must be punished, right? But the baby. That baby is innocent."

Yates tapped his fingers on the table, but remained silent.

"The blood of the guilty, it's like a fine wine. The blood of the innocent, you won't wash that away."

Yates glanced between Sweets and Barry, all cold bravado gone. He thought of his daughter, the only thing in his life that had kept him going. Knowing she was safe. But she wasn't safe. She hadn't been safe for months. He reached out and grabbed the yellow legal pad and the pen. He wrote an address down.

"I think I am going to need that lawyer again," he whispered, tearing off the paper and handing it to Barry.

* * *

><p>An hour later and Brennan still wasn't entirely sure if eating that had been a good thing. She knew, empirically, that it was a very good thing. Anything with any sort of nutritional value added precious minutes to her life and that of her child. However, after six years of an entirely meatless diet, the thought of putting the thick slices of processed pork in her mouth turned her stomach despite the knowledge that it could save her life.<p>

She tried to ignore the taste of it in her mouth, and focus on the leaves rustling outside the window. Franny had just left, after reading through the first act of the Tempest. It had kept them distracted, and she was thankful for those few moments when she wasn't thinking about the rope cutting into her legs, and the fact that she was laying naked in front of a child.

She was unashamed of her body, even with its current less-than-perfect state, but a child was still a child.

She cut off a sob, hoping the hiccup that escaped didn't wake Booth. He wasn't doing very well; there was a hitch in his breathing, and it had become fairly shallow since he'd fallen asleep. She wasn't doing much better, but she didn't really think about it much.

She no longer had any regrets. There were things she'd wish she'd be able to do, like meet her child, but death didn't upset her. Booth would tell her she'd be able to see her mother again, though she knew all she would do would be to feed the worms if she was unlucky, and further the realms of science if they found her body before too much decomposition set in. Death wouldn't hurt her.

Her death would hurt Booth, and she didn't want that. She hoped he would forgive her for not getting them out of this.

A wave of cramps rolled over her stomach and she bit back a yell. She fought the urge to pull her knees up. The motion was involuntary, and if the ropes hadn't been there she probably would have failed, but as it was Booth didn't so much as stir. Unwanted tears fell from her cheeks.

She told herself that it was just the pain. That the tears were the involuntary reaction of her body's autonomic nervous system reaction to the firing of neurons. It wasn't because she was afraid, although she was. It wasn't because she worried about Booth, though she did. It wasn't because she knew she was going to die.

She had come to terms with that.

The tears continued to fall, faster and harder, running in rivulets down her cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away. She was sure she could stop them if she could just wipe the ones that were there away. If she could just dry her eyes.

The pain spread from her belly down her legs, and she knew that it wouldn't be long. She might have a few extra hours if her body let the baby die, but she knew it was unlikely. The baby would die with her, would possibly survive her by a few fleeting seconds.

The tears fell harder.

She was thankful they were silent, that she could control the shaking that came with them to not wake Booth. She didn't want him to watch her die, didn't want him to be awake.

She wondered if it was better to have him wake up to find her no longer breathing. Would that be any better than having him there?

At least if he was awake he could hear her say goodbye. She tried to speak, tried to let him know that she was sorry for it all. Sorry for all the time wasted, all the times she hadn't known the right thing to say, all the times when he had had to protect her, save her, help her.

Not a sound passed her lips. The pain began to fade and fear gripped her heart.

She didn't want to die.

She didn't want Booth to die.

She didn't want their baby to die.

The world went black.

* * *

><p>Angela moved through the crowd, standing on tiptoes to try and see Sweets in the crowd of police officers. There was a tension that filled the room, a primal force, like a tiger about to strike. Every person in the room moved like a rubber band about to snap. Poised, strung, tension just to the breaking point. It put Angela on edge.<p>

She spotted the psychologist sitting at a desk on the other side of a group of men chatting about body armor. He was rubbing his temples, staring down at a few pieces of paper in front of them. He shuffled through them, then lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"Hey, Sweets. When are you guys heading out?" she asked.

"I'm not. They just have to get the cars set and they'll be out. Three minutes, maybe."

She sat down beside him, stealing a chair from a neighboring desk. The group of SWAT officers were already heading for the door. Yates had finished writing his confession less than a minute before, it had been less than ten since he'd given Barry the address. That had been followed by a bunch of shouting and Angela trying to find a way to stay out of the way.

Calls had been made and SWAT had been assembled. They just had to wait on the green light now to get on their way. The address Yates had given them was less than fifteen minutes away, but Angela had already done the math in her head.

Almost two days. They'd been gone almost a full forty-eight hours. She wasn't a scientist, not the way her husband was or Brennan was, but she had a fairly decent memory she thought. Most of Yates' victims didn't make it thirty-six.

Her stomach clenched and it took all her strength not to throw up all over the desk. She closed her eyes and saw the stream of bodies Yates had sent them, decayed and weak and so very dead. And then she saw her best friend, the woman who had saved her from a life of being a starving artist in one of the least artistic cities in the US. The woman who had introduced her to her future husband. Godmother – after much arguing – of her son. She saw her dead, the child she carried gone before it ever lived, its mother cold on a steel table. Its father laying beside them, cheeks hollow, muscle gone.

She gripped the edge of the desk, wanting so much to go back. To turn back the clocks and make this all go away. It didn't work like that though, so instead she smiled at Sweets.

"You want to sneak into the back of one of those cars?" she asked.

Sweets looked down at the papers he'd been reading, a photo copy of Yates' confession, a graphic account of over twenty murders, forty dead. "Oh, yeah. Bring it," he said, getting up.

They made their way through the crowd, which was now filling into the three cars and a SWAT van parked behind the precinct. The saw Barry standing by the lead car, giving orders. Two other agents had shown up about half an hour before from the local field office. They stood with him, directing the traffic of the local PD. Angela made note that if things turned out okay, she was going to send every member of the Binghamton Police Department a fruit basket.

"We're coming," she said, approaching the profiler.

"No, you're not. I'll keep you updated. No civilians."

"We'll stay in car, but if we sit here we're going to go mad. Right, Sweets?"

"Um," the younger man said, suddenly not sure he wanted to go anymore. This man was a bit of an idol. "Yeah. I mean, they know us. After being imprisoned like this, without food, they're likely to be delusional. A familiar face might do them some good."

"Fine. Backseat. You don't move unless I say so. Hamier, Lucas, you're now in car two."

Sweets didn't even have his seat belt buckled when they moved out.

* * *

><p>Booth woke to the sound of crying.<p>

He could barely open his eyes, and it took all his effort to focus.

"Shhh," he whispered into Brennan's hair, "It's…oh…kay. We'll," he paused, out of breath. He gasped a few times for air before continuing, "Get…out…of this." The effort of speaking made his head hurt, and he lay on the pillow gasping for air.

It took a moment after he'd gotten his breath back, but as his breathing slowed he noticed that the crying hadn't stopped, only gotten louder, but Brennan hadn't moved. He used what little strength he had to shake her within the confines of their joint bond.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Nothing. He called her name, but there was no response. Nothing.

His first response was to panic. He had no strength to shout, to scream at her, barely strength to try one more time to shake her awake.

She didn't move.

She was breathing, if barely. He could feel her heart thumping under his fists. It beat a harsh, uneven tempo, but it was reassuring. She still lived, and that gave him a small hope that they would get out.

It didn't explain the crying. If Brennan was unconscious, then where were the choked, desperate sobs coming from? His brain couldn't track the sound; it seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere.

"Who…sssss…there?" he managed to choke out.

The crying stopped with a small yelp. A tiny head peaked over Brennan's shoulder. It was tear stained, the eyes swollen and red. Franny wiped her tears and her runny nose on the back of her arm.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Booth, sir. I just...Daddy hasn't come home, and you're too sick; if I let you go then you won't make it to someone who can help you. I tried lifting you, thinking maybe I could help but I couldn't and I don't know what to do, and I don't want you to not wake up, and TempeBones won't wake up and I think she's dead like everyone else and I don't want you to die and I don't know what to do and I just wish Daddy was here 'cause he'd tell me what to do." She finally stopped to breathe, but the pause made her start crying again.

Most of him wished that she'd just untie them and let them deal with anything else on their own, but part of him understood. The boy using his body as a shield for his little brother understood. The man who carried the bodies of his fellow soldiers through the desert understood.

Doing the right thing hurt. Doing the right thing was never easy. And when the wrong thing was what every person above you was telling you to do crying was sometimes the only option. He wanted to reassure her, wanted to tell her that it was okay, that he forgave her for not being strong enough, but then she surprised him.

She reached over and started to untie the ropes, tiny fingers working on the knots she had tightened just a few hours before. Her hands were wet with snot and tears, and they slipped on the ropes, but she continued to try.

She just started to loosen the knot holding his arms together when there was a crash in the front room. She scurried to the door and peeked out the cracked door. He couldn't see her, couldn't lift his head to watch. He heard the door latch, then the shouts of men in the other room. He heard Franny scramble to the window and pry it open.

"I'm happy," she said, slipping down to the ground outside, "I'm happy you'll be okay."

She slid the window closed again, but he didn't see it.

He almost hoped she got away.


	17. Chapter 16: Pain in the Hospital

Hospitals tend to all smell the same. And look the same. And have the same uncomfortable plastic chairs that tend to poke in all the wrong places. Angela wondered if it was some sort of conspiracy to make people waiting in hospitals need to be admitted to hospitals later.

She then wondered if maybe Jack was rubbing off on her just a little too much.

Barry had dropped her and Sweets off at the Binghamton Hospital a little over an hour before on his way back to the station. He had left them at the emergency room after Sweets had vomited all over the side of the car. Angela knew how he felt, and only a strong stomach built up from working with Brennan all these years had kept her from doing the same.

Her best friend had looked like one of the skeletons she worked on. The pregnancy was over exaggerated from the lack of flesh on any other part of her body. Her cheeks had suck in, her arms and legs had looked so frail that Angela had shouted at the EMTs to loosen the straps holding her to the gurney. Booth hadn't been in much better shape; all muscle tone gone, his skin hanging loosely off highly visible bones. Angela had spent the ride to the hospital unable to control her sobbing.

Sweets had been given an anti-nausea medication and a handful of saltines. Angela had been given the information that there was no information yet. She refrained from calling anyone save Cam, who she simply told they'd been found and were at the hospital.

The general atmosphere among the nurses, though, was not a happy one. Even Brennan would have been able to tell that the hospital staff didn't hold out much hope that their two – no three – new patients would make it very long. Booth's prognosis generally improved over the hour, and he was awake and accepting fluids by the time Angela had decided that she was going to travel with seat cushions from now on. The nurses were still refusing visitors, but they no longer feared for his life.

Brennan was an altogether different story. The baby had been drawing every last scrap of nutrition from its mother, and was probably killing them both. The doctors were walking a dangerous line, between introducing the still unconscious woman to something her weak body would reject and keeping mother and child alive. Angela had seen the crash cart rush by her once, about forty-five minutes before, but still hadn't heard a thing. She crossed her fingers that it was for someone else, and not her best friend.

Sweets wandered back into the waiting room after rinsing his mouth out for the hundredth time in the past hour. He still looked pale, but the medication and crackers seemed to be working.

"She's still alive," he said quietly, taking the vacant seat beside her. "There were a few close calls, I guess, but she's stable now. She still hasn't woken up, and that really worries me."

"How on earth did you find that out? The nurses won't even look at me."

"I stood outside her curtain and overheard the doctors talking. They have an obstetrician in there; I guess there's some question of whether they can keep her alive...and you know...like..."

"I get it," Angela snapped. The news that they may have to abort the child to save her best friend tore her apart. It was neither fair nor right. This baby had been a miracle, a chance for her friend to give real happiness a try, and to have it torn away like this was sickening. She grabbed one of the crackers Sweets had left on the side table, hoping it would settle her empty stomach.

She was just considering making the walk to the cafeteria to get more of the flavorless snacks when an older man in scrubs walked toward them.

"Are you the family of Dr. Temperance Brennan?" he asked.

"Yes," Angela said, just as Sweets blurted out, "Kind of."

It took a bit of explaining, at that point, and a couple of phone calls, but eventually the doctor came back and sat them both down. Angela almost smiled when she noticed that the doctor didn't sit in the seats available, but sat on the edge of one of the tables.

"Dr. Brennan and her baby are both stable right now. We got her to wake up for a short time, and that's really good progress. She's not completely out of the woods yet, but we will be admitting her to the main hospital in the next few hours. I don't expect that she'll be ready for visitors for a day or so, though. The baby was in distress for awhile, and we're going to try and eliminate any extra stressors on her until we're sure that the baby is stable."

"And Agent Booth?" Sweets asked.

"The gentleman that was brought in with her? He'll be moving upstairs within the hour, I believe. Neither one will be back to a hundred percent anytime soon, but I'm fairly sure that they'll get there eventually."

The doctor stood up and shook their hands, and as he walked away Angela felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders.

She called Jack and then Cam.

The killer had been caught, he was going to go to jail for a very long time, and people could sleep just a little bit easier.

And Booth and Brennan were going to be okay, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but soon.

Angela felt that the latter made her feel a little bit better about the world in general too. Who else would catch the rest of bad guys out there?

* * *

><p>In the two weeks that had passed since being admitted to the hospital, Booth had found at least a hundred reasons not to become seriously ill, so he'd never have to come back. The first four or five days had been the worst, being awake but not mobile, but after that the mess of IV lines and the insistence of the nurses that he use a wheelchair had finally driven him to call each of his bosses, in succession, about getting out of his incarceration in the hospital. All of them, but especially Hacker when he'd called back, had laughed and told him to try harder at being a good patient.<p>

That was all well and good, but there was only so much you could do when you weren't even allowed to use the toilet by yourself.

He'd lost over 80% of his muscle definition and mass, and found it hard to recognize himself in the mirror. His physical therapist was insisting on taking it so slow he had been fairly certain he wouldn't be walking again until Parker was married with grandchildren. Thankfully it had only taken eleven days, and as of today he would walk with limited assistance. It would be another few weeks before he could ditch the cane, and probably six months before he'd be back to work in the field, but that just meant he could dote on Brennan through the end of her pregnancy before having to worry about going out into the field.

And Brennan would need doting. She was on permanent bed rest until the baby was born. It had taken her almost thirty-six hours to get to the point that the doctors were sure she'd be fine, and even after that the baby had given them a number of small scares. Angela made sure to bring him all the news he could ask for about Brennan and their child, though, and things were looking up. If they could just get Brennan to do what she was told.

He stuck his head out into the hallway, checking for the swarm of nurses that always seemed to know when he was trying to break the rules. He was being sent home the next day, but he didn't think Brennan would be able to join him, not yet. He wasn't about to leave this hospital without being able to show her how far he'd come, and he couldn't do that if he was being rolled around like a petulant toddler. The coast clear, he made his way down the hall, as best he could, dragging the IV behind him.

He couldn't move very fast, partly because of his still weak muscles, partly from having the IV with him and as he turned the final corner he had to duck into a vacant room. He paced in there, waiting for the search to begin on his whereabouts. When it didn't, he shuffled the rest of the way to Brennan's room. He slipped in and closed the door behind him

She was sitting up in bed, the Times open on her lap. It was like a kick in the stomach every time her saw her, and the nurses had brought him down here a time or two in his wheelchair. The swell of her abdomen still contrasted starkly to her small frame. She was looking better, but there was little left of her that he could recognize except her eyes. Which he couldn't see when he walked in, she was working on the crossword, tongue just sticking out between her lips as she thought. She didn't look up when he entered, just scratched another word onto the newsprint.

"Good morning, Booth," she said, still not looking up.

"'Morning, Bones, whatcha doing?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Nine letters, stressed in more ways than one?" she replied, tapping the end of her pencil against her bottom lip. "Third letter's an S"

"Haven't a clue," Booth said just as the door opened again.

"Past Tense," Barry said with a smile, setting down a small vase of flowers onto a side table. "I came back into town to tie up a few loose ends. Thought I'd see how you were doing."

Booth felt strange being on this end of a case wrap up. He'd been involved in cases before, but generally he was back on his feet and filing paperwork well before the 'loose end' stage came around.

"We're fine, Agent Barry," Brennan said, finally setting the crossword aside. "We should both be on our way back to DC shortly."

"That's good to hear. And look, while you're both here, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for some of the things I've said, and done, during this case. I have no excuse, but I'm sorry, and I'm glad things worked out okay."

Booth was about to start in on how there was no way Barry could ever make up for the things he said about his relationship with Brennan, or for trying to use her, when Brennan jumped in.

"There is no need to apologize. My skills do lend themselves to cold cases, and it is only logical that you would try to use all the tools at your disposal. I know Booth thinks your methods were not up to his standards, and next time perhaps the easiest thing to do would be to ask. As for what you said, I find nothing incorrect in what Booth relayed to me. Our sexual rela-"

"Bones," Booth warned.

"Anyway, Agent Barry, I don't see any reason for you to apologize." She smiled, picked the paper back up, and went back to work on the crossword.

She didn't see Barry's shocked face, nor the green color that seemed to have sunk into Booth's skin. She heard nothing of their forced pleasantries. She didn't even look up until she heard the door close, and then she was surprised to find herself alone.

* * *

><p>Booth sat on the end of his bed waiting for the nurse to bring him the wheelchair. He'd spent twenty minutes insisting that he was more than capable of walking out of the hospital himself, but for such a tiny woman his nurse could be very mean. He'd finally relented, and now waited for the chair growing more impatient by the second.<p>

It was only nine in the morning, but after the afternoon he'd had the day before, he was looking forward to getting back to DC and resuming as much of his old life as was possible. The doctors had him on limited duty, and his physical therapist had warned him not to try lifting anything over ten pounds, but that didn't mean he couldn't get back into a routine.

And that was what he needed.

Barry's unexpected visit the day before had thrown him for a loop. Not that the agent had apologized – he'd known, at least a little, that their confrontation almost a month before had been caused by stress and departmental rivalry. He'd worked with Barry before, when Booth was still green and didn't wear stripy socks, and they'd gotten along fine. It had been Brennan's assurance that there had been no need for the man to say sorry for what he'd said about her, about them, that had upset him.

He knew that Brennan's view of things was different than most people's. That was part of why he loved her so much, why, after everything they had been through, they could still end up where they were. Yet, the thought that she might consider their relationship as just an office fling twisted his insides in a way he really didn't like.

So far he'd been able to hide it. She hadn't commented on his sudden departure when he'd finally gone back to see her later in the evening. She hadn't brought up Barry's visit, or his own strange behavior. And sitting in his room waiting for the nurse, he had to admit, his behavior had been very strange. He'd been overbearing, doing everything for her, and telling her he loved her so many times that she'd finally had to tell him to stop.

It occurred to him now, that other than the occasional 'I love you as a partner' that they'd shared over the years, and the more common shouting of it during sex, he'd never really told her he loved her before then. He hoped now that she didn't take it the wrong way.

He wouldn't be able to see her again until she got out of the hospital. She was in obstetrics having the baby doctors look her over to make sure that everything was still okay. They sent him updates, now that the hospital knew he was the father – he needed to remember to thank Angela for finally giving them that piece of news – and he'd almost been physically ill when they'd told him how close they had been to losing both mother and child the day they'd been brought in. His current updates were more enjoyable, and he'd gotten a copy of the ultrasound from the day before in his discharge packet.

Knowledge about the paternity of Brennan's baby or not, though, his own doctors had forbidden him from unnecessary flying or long car rides until all his insides were back on track. He didn't like listening to doctors, but Brennan had threatened to leave AMA if he didn't do what he was told. She knew how to get to him. If staying home without her meant she and the baby were okay, then he'd have to be content with phone calls until she got the green light to come home too.

And the more he considered it, the more he thought it was a good thing. It would give him time to think, to consider exactly where he wanted things to go with Brennan. To maybe talk to Barry again. And to tell Parker and Rebecca about everything. There would be no hiding the pregnancy when Brennan finally did make it back.

The nurse finally rolled the wheelchair into his room. He jumped up, eager to be gone. From the hospital, from New York, from this case. The sudden movement made him dizzy, but he fought it off, and got into the chair.

The ride down to the front doors was a never ending stream of admonitions from the nurse about the dangers of moving too quickly when you're still recovering.

He'd never wanted to be home so much in his life.

* * *

><p>Brennan hung up the phone and leaned back on the pillows of the hospital bed. She'd finally gotten a hold of her father, and had to spend the last hour being lectured. Strangely, though, she found she kind of liked that he worried about her still. For everything that had happened since he'd left, he still worried about her health, was excited about the baby, and promised not to punch Booth above the neck or below the waist. She thought that was a good start.<p>

She just wished, more than anything, that she was going home with Booth today. She'd gotten Angela and Hodgins to agree to get him back to DC. The hospital had wanted to transfer him to DC General, but it hadn't taken much to get them to see that even though the trip was a long one, the drive would allow him relax without the stress of the helicopter flight.

That had meant that she was alone now until the doctors here were assured she could travel without causing the baby harm.

They were fairly sure that there wouldn't be any long term effects from her brush with death, but there was no real way to be sure until the baby was born. Everything looked okay on the ultrasound, and the baby's heartbeat was finally strong and steady again, but they still worried that any change would make things go bad. She'd begun to find that she could tell when things were going wrong, though. The baby didn't like it when she showered, its agitation almost visible on her still too thin frame. Most of the time sitting down calmed it, but the doctors wanted her near immediate care tshould the distress not end when she was no longer standing.

It was getting better though. She could make it to the bathroom on her own now, and the doctors had finally allowed her to go back to stringy greens, like celery and spinach, that the body had a slightly harder time digesting. And so far there had been no ill effects. She was on enough vitamin supplements that she occasionally worried about eating after them for fear she'd overdose. But her only real concern now was for the baby, and she dealt with the horse pills, the IVs and constant testing to ensure her child's health.

It had been easier when she'd known she'd be able to see Booth, though. The day before, when Barry had stopped by, she'd known she'd said something wrong to him. When he came back later that night, though, he hadn't said anything. And Booth always said something. She was the one who held her feelings back, and had spent years suffering in silence. Booth rarely did that, and when he did it was generally at the advice of someone else. So why, then, if he was upset with her about whatever she'd said, was he keeping quiet about it?

As her lunch tray arrived, complete with a line of vitamin pills, she wondered if Barry had said something else to him. She couldn't imagine that, after having just been in to apologize, but she really didn't understand people that well. She hadn't pushed, seven years of experiments telling her that pushing Booth when he was actually upset was a bit like setting off a bomb in a crowded mall. Sifting through the rubble and the remains took too long, and left too many people in tears.

She poked at her salad, forcing herself to eat while she thought about what she could do to bring him out of whatever melancholy mood he'd found himself in. Unfortunately, trapped as she was in a hospital bed, she couldn't find much that would help him. He was probably well on his way into DC now, and she wouldn't speak to him again until this evening when he'd settled everything with his work.

She put a hand on her stomach, rubbing softly on the now highly prominent bump that was there. The doctors said another week here, at least, and then they might be willing to transfer her to DC, depending on how the baby was doing. She had at least a week before she saw the father of her child again. The thought brought a smile; it might be awhile before she could see him, but Booth was the father of her child. Her baby. She'd considered this before, having his child, but now it was real, and as far as anyone could tell, everything was fine.

She told herself to stop worrying, that it wasn't good for the baby, and went back to her lunch.

Seven days.

Booth's so-called God built the world in seven days. She could make herself and her child strong enough to go home in that time.


	18. Chapter 17: War in the Heart

**Author's Note: First, I'm sorry this took so long. I don't normally work weekends, but they called me up and I worked Saturday night and all day Sunday, and then early this morning. It was unpleasent...but not an excuse. The excuse is, the laptop with the actual document files was left at work the whole time and I'd be hit with a wet noodle (and don't let anyone tell you that doesn't hurt!) if I got caught posting this while on the clock :) On with the show!**

* * *

><p>Driving a desk hadn't been on Booth's five year plan. It hadn't really been on his ten year plan either, but there had been a concession that by the time he was fifty, he might not want to be running after murderers in the streets. That in the course of just a few weeks he'd gone from Major Crimes golden boy to "my boss" left him with a bad taste in his mouth. This wasn't the way things were supposed to have happened. Forty was the new thirty, and other than a misaligned spine he was in pretty good shape. Had been in pretty good shape.<p>

Despite his protests to the doctors that he was fine, he tired easily and found that even climbing more than one or two flights of stairs winded him. The muscle strength simply wasn't there anymore. That hadn't stopped him from trying to go back to work, though. He'd been back in DC, at his own place, for no more than a day when he'd started working on getting out of his trauma-induced purgatory.

It had taken another couple days for everything to go through, but today, finally, he was going back to work. It felt good to step into the bustle of the office, to see crimes being solved, rather than be at home watch daytime talk shows.

He couldn't go back in the field. He'd argued and pleaded and almost gone so far as to beg, though not quite, but no one would sign off on that. His physical therapist told him it might be a good idea to give up field work all together for a year or two. Booth decided he'd give it six more weeks, or whenever Brennan came back, whichever came first.

No, he amended, as he sat down at his desk and felt the ache in his calves, whichever came later.

He had never felt like this. He'd felt beaten and bruised, weak, confused, dazed, but this topped it all. This was like having your very life siphoned out of you. Which, he figured, it sort of had been. Everyone kept telling him it was just a matter of time, but there were times when he didn't think all the time in the world would fix it.

He knew he looked better than he felt, though, and the stares coming through the glass from the bullpen put him on edge. Sweets had promised him, weeks ago, that he wouldn't tell a soul about Brennan or the baby. Angela had been keeping her mouth shut long enough that he didn't think that she'd suddenly show up at the Hoover and start blabbing. Barry, though, had said nothing to him other than to apologize. An apology that Brennan had dismissed.

He looked out at the other agents, now _his_ agents, and figured that Barry wouldn't come all the way up to MC just to gossip. However, there was a knowing look in their eyes as they watched him.

Of course, it could just be that they'd heard what had happened. That he'd been taken by a serial killer, again, and had survived, again. That after over a month of tracking this guy they had finally caught the guy, and he had confessed. That one of the most prolific serial killers in American history was right now on his way to a Federal Court for sentencing. That Agent Booth had knocked up his partner.

And there it was again.

It crept around the corners of his mind. The doubts had been there from the day she'd told him she was pregnant, but he'd laughed off his concerns. He loved her, she loved him, and the rest of the world be damned. But watching the other agents, he could only imagine what they were thinking about him.

About Brennan.

And that was the crux of the problem. He didn't really give a damn one way or the other what the people out in the bullpen thought of him. They could think he was going to eat them all in their sleep for all he cared. He would not have them thinking that Brennan was some kind of easy lay. That she was using him, or he her, for any reason.

Yet, if Brennan was already thinking that about herself, he couldn't exactly do much to stop other people for thinking it.

The conclusion he was left with wasn't a pretty one. It left him feeling hollow. With a growl, he grabbed his gym bag from the bottom drawer of his desk. The paperwork could wait.

He needed to clear his head...again.

* * *

><p>Cam stepped out of her office, idly running a finger over the rim of her coffee cup. Clark was on the platform, directing the techs to box up evidence. She liked Dr. Edison, in small amounts anyway, but in the weeks that Dr. Brennan had been away, she'd found he could be very trying.<p>

Not that she would ever admit that to anybody.

Ever.

He was efficient, however, and if not quite as good at scaring the techs as Dr. Brennan, he still got the job done. Not that the evidence was really needed anymore. Yates had pled guilty at his arraignment a couple days before, and the case wouldn't be going to trial. Anything the Feds didn't already have would be put in storage. There was talk that several of the states were considering pressing their own charges, but it would be difficult to prove exactly what state each victim had been killed in. Unlike Booth and Brennan, all of Yates' other victims had been kept in his RV.

She watched as a line of techs started grabbing various boxes and headed for the door. There were agents waiting outside to take possession, and, with a sigh, she followed to sign the evidence over to the Feds.

She signed with one hand, her coffee cup clutched in the other. They attempted to make small talk with her, but she really wasn't in the mood. She hated paperwork the way most people hated Nazis or mass murderers. The thought of it made her want to crawl into a hole and stay there. Only, this was the job she was hired to do. The catching murderers bit was just an added bonus.

The last paper signed and dated, she handed the clipboard to Clark so he could finish up with anything else the Feds needed and headed back to her office. The lab had fallen into a strange sort of quiet with all the techs out loading the van. There was little sound above the hum of the computers, and the occasional order from Clark to the stragglers. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the lab during times like these. There was a feeling of emptiness to it, like it was just a shell left over after a crab has moved on. Things felt different when the team was around after a case, but for the moment there was only herself and Clark.

Her desk phone rang just as she was sitting down. She checked her cell phone before she answered it, but she didn't have any missed calls.

"This is Dr. Camille Saroyan, Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab," she answered, figuring it was an outside call or a Jeffersonian bigwig.

"Dr Saroyan? It's Dr. Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan!" she said with a smile. "How are you feeling? How's New York treating you?"

"New York is an area marked on a map defined by cartographers sometimes in the eighteenth century. It cannot treat me, nor perform any action beyond shifting with its tectonic plate. As to my feelings, I find myself glad that my time in this hospital is coming to an end. However, my future confinement is what I am calling you to discuss."

Suppressing a smile, Saroyan asked, "Confinement?"

"Indeed. It seems that the doctors have a few conditions for my upcoming release from the hospital. They will be transferring me to a hospital in DC for a couple of days before I am allowed to go home, but at that time I will still be on permanent bed rest until the end of my pregnancy. As I –"

The pathologist cut her off, "What? What pregnancy? You're pregnant? When? Who? How?"

Brennan chuckled, "I am just under twenty weeks at the moment, and as I'm sure Angela has told you, Booth is the father. As to the how, when Booth and I bec–"

"No," Camille interjected again, "the how you can tell me later. And Angela didn't say a thing! You're halfway through this thing and you didn't say a word, Dr. Brennan? This is...this is...this is amazing! Congratulations!" she said with more feeling than she felt. It was a bit of a blow that only a few weeks after finding out her head anthropologist was sleeping with their FBI liaison the knowledge that they'd be having a child together had to be added to the list of 'things she didn't know'. She sometimes wondered if they made sure she was the last to know these things on purpose.

"I told her it would be fine to tell you, since I haven't been in much of a state to be calling people up recently. I am sorry for the way I told you. I had expected you to already be aware of my condition. On that note as well, it seems I will be needing to take leave for the next few months. I'll be able to consult, but the doctors have informed me that I won't be able to go into work again until after the baby is born."

Still reeling, Saroyan replied, "No, of course, that's fine. I hope you're doing okay," and hung up.

She needed to talk to Booth, and soon.

* * *

><p>Booth hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. That had been a highly unpleasant conversation in what was turning out to be an unpleasant day. He'd been back to work only a couple of days when he'd gotten a call from Brennan saying she'd be on her way back to DC soon, and the doctors were hopeful about the health of the baby. He'd then gotten a call from Cam about an hour later, a very calm, collected Cam who didn't raise her voice, or swear, or tell him she needed a cigarette, and that Cam was a very scary Cam. It didn't ease his fear that the first words out of her mouth had been to ask about the baby.<p>

"Seeley, why the hell didn't you say anything about impregnating my head forensic anthropologist," she had said.

And he honestly had had no idea how to respond to that.

He had sweet-talked his way out of a lecture from one of his oldest friends, had said 'sorry' about three dozen times, and had thanked his lucky stars when she'd finally gotten off the phone.

He just hadn't realized that no one had told her. Sweets had found out in Angela's desperate attempt to save the lives of her friends, and since she knew Hodgins knew by default. It had only been logical, he told himself, to assume that Cam would know as well. He'd known he'd have to make it up to her, which had prompted this latest call, three days later.

Only, that call hadn't gone as well as he'd expected. Or that day for that matter.

He'd woken up happy enough. The day had had a bright future...before he got out of bed.

As soon as he did, he realized that the heat had gone out in his apartment. When he'd been admitted to the hospital it had been a blazing hot 101 on the east coast.. Now, in the second week of October, the early morning temperatures were threatening to drop below freezing. His feet had touched the wood floors of his bedroom, he'd screamed like a girl, and spent what was supposed to be a relaxing morning before work in trying to get the super to fix the heat.

It would have been fine if things had ended there. But when he'd finally showered and dressed, he'd gone down to find someone had dropped a baby elephant on his windshield. Well, maybe not a baby elephant, more likely a large rock, or a baseball, but whatever the cause, his windshield was a mess of cracks and holes. That was easily taken care of, as it was a government car, and he was still at work on time. If that had been the end of it, he might not have been ready to punch a wall after getting off the phone.

No, as soon as he'd sat down the phone had started ringing. Press. Other agents. More press. They all wanted to know what had happened in New York. Policy was to say nothing, but this case was too big, and a series of press conferences the week before – just after Yates' arraignment – had caused a feeding frenzy in national news.

His blood pressure rising, he'd taken a long lunch, well before lunchtime, and went to visit Brennan where she was still trapped at DC General. She'd been doing well, and the only high point of his day was when the doctor came in as he was leaving and told him she'd be going home that afternoon.

It was thrown in his face as soon as he got back to the office. All talk in the bull pen had stopped as soon as he walked in. They'd all stared at him until finally a junior agent had come up to him and handed him a copy of Brennan's ultrasound.

"You dropped this when you left," she'd mumbled before stepping back to her desk, blushing furiously.

That had sparked a round of congratulations. Back slapping, offers to take him out for a beer, general good ol' boy stuff that in other circumstances he'd have been happy to partake in. Instead, it dawned on him that they all knew. The print did say 'Brennan' on it, after all. They all knew and they were all judging. He didn't normally take it personally, but it wasn't just some woman he was with, it was his partner, and he knew how that looked. He finally gave up on holding onto his good mood.

Scowling, upset and feeling more unsure about where his life was going than he had since he was sixteen, he'd made the call. He had to make the call – Cam was his oldest friend. He made the appointment, gritted his teeth at the cost, and then called Cam.

Only to be yelled at.

He tried to do the right thing, make up for not being the friend he should have been and telling her his good news, and she yelled at him. Given him the lecture he'd just barely avoided three days earlier. She told him to shove the appointment to the day spa in unspeakable places and make his girlfriend dinner. That she didn't care one bit that he hadn't told her, that he shouldn't be acting so guilty. That she hadn't been angry, or hurt, just amused. She had sounded angry then, though, as she told him flat out that if he so much as thought about causing any unneeded stress in her lab she'd hunt him down herself. Then she'd hung up.

He'd been left sitting in his office, his agents staring at him through the glass walls of his office, his friends angry at him, and the mother of his child in the hospital.

He grabbed his jacket and went home.

* * *

><p>Booth looked around his apartment. The place was, in a word, filthy. He didn't normally let the place start looking like a frat boy lived there, but, as he scanned the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes, he told himself that it was just because of the case. It had been a rough one, and the mother of his child was still in the hospital, and that simply gave him an excuse not to clean.<p>

It was a load of bologna, of course.

He hadn't been cleaning because if he did then it was all real. If he tidied up and honestly got back to real life he'd have to admit the truth. He had failed. He had failed the FBI, and had had to rely on another agent to get his butt out of the fire. He had failed himself, letting his relationship with his partner cloud his senses and potentially letting a serial killer get away. But mostly he had failed Brennan.

Barry's comments all those weeks ago had been a catalyst for him to realize the truth. Whatever his feelings, whatever his intentions, he was using his partner. He had made her something less by his actions, and he was the only one who could fix it. Only, he was at a loss as to how. People who saw her, saw them, would think less of her unless he married her. It was a simple equation, one he had been taught from a very young age. And one he'd thrown extra variables into too many times.

Things had been different with Rebecca though, in a very basic sense. He'd been younger certainly, but he hadn't been some twenty-year-old kid who hadn't known the consequences of his actions when he'd left the box of condoms in the side drawer. But, he hadn't felt quite so responsible for Rebecca. He'd asked for her hand out of obligation, she'd said no, and while he'd been upset, it hadn't hit him like this. Maybe because he hadn't really loved Rebecca, but he thought mainly because no one would look at them and shake their heads knowingly.

Brennan was his partner, and he knew she'd say no to any proposal he might put forth, but he loved her with a kind of crazy passion that tore away at his reason. He hadn't always. Looking back, he didn't even think he loved her this much when he'd woken from his coma. What he felt for her was what Pops had felt for Grams, a deep, slow love that ruled him more than he'd ever be able to describe. And it was killing him that the world would think what they had was no more than a fling gone bad.

Which left him two options, neither one he liked.

First, he could do the right thing. Leave the FBI, and married or not, be the best pseudo-husband and father he could be. Only, he didn't think Brennan would let him do that. Sometimes she was as misguided as he was, in an opposite direction. His conviction to his faith, his upbringing, was sometimes obtuse, but she could be just as stubborn in her conviction to God's lack of existence, to the outdated-ness of marriage, to her own independence.

On the other hand, he could leave her. He could bring the tsks and head-shaking his way. Let the mothers of the neighborhood talk about him, and his lack of commitment, about his scandalous ways and his horrible treatment of the mother of his child. He could do what he'd done to Rebecca...or at least what Rebecca had done to him. Only he wasn't sure he could live with that one. And he knew he couldn't live with people looking at Brennan as if she was some kind of skank.

He didn't know what to do.

He was lost in these thoughts when there was a light knock on his door. Cam was on the other side, looking as pissed as she'd sounded when he'd called her earlier in the day.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, opening the door. He tried to sound casual, like he wasn't contemplating the end of his happiness.

"Just wondering why you aren't at Brennan's," she said, lifting her nose in disgust at the mess in his home, "Angela said you never showed up to take her home. What the hell is going on?"

With a sigh Booth threw himself onto an empty spot on his couch. He hadn't gone because he'd wanted to make a decision before he saw her again.

"I'm, look Cam, things have become complicated."

"Complicated, Seeley? How the hell is your girlfriend, the mother of your child, who has been in hospital for the last month, who is on permanent bed rest, complicated? She needs you there." Cam swiped at the pile of trash on a side chair, watching it fall to the ground, and sat down, leaning her elbows on her knees. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if this was the same man she'd always known. The soldier, the friend, she'd been so happy for just days before.

"I'm the last thing she needs, Cam. I've ruined everything." He threw an arm over his eyes, allowing yet another wave of self pity roll over him.

"Bullshit. Before New York, she was the happiest I'd ever seen her. And so were you. Things were good. What the hell changed? She needs you there, she needs your support. You honestly think Temperance Brennan is going to do well stuck in bed for five months? Especially if you aren't there? Angela has a new baby; she can't be there all the time, and I'm fairly certain she doesn't want me poking around the house. So get your ass in gear, soldier." She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to control herself. Most of her wanted to hit him, literally smack the sense back into him, but she knew that didn't work with him. She just wished he'd listen. She'd known him most of his life, had shared his bed, his life. She knew his passion, his fears. She knew his history. She knew _him._

Booth chuckled, and shook his head. "Everyone thinks I've been using her. That the reason I'm her partner is because we're sleeping together. That I 'put up' with her because she puts out. I hate it, Cam, and I don't know if I can take it anymore." He sat up straighter.

She wanted to tell herself that this wasn't him, that he was acting strangely. And to a degree, she thought, perhaps that was true, but at the same time she knew he took things too personally, and always tried to put the blame on himself. The fact that Parker was born out of wedlock had made for a number of difficult years for him, and she supposed he thought that this child would just be another bastard Booth. She understood that the thought hurt him, and she tried to control her temper for that reason. And yet, that was no reason to throw everything away.

With a glare, and giving up on her attempts to not get physical, Cam reached over and slapped him on the back of the head, "Don't be an idiot. I can't say that everyone doesn't think that, but I'm sure that anyone who knows you or Brennan doesn't. And even if they do, what does it matter? I _can_ say, with as much confidence as I can about anything to do with Brennan, that she loves you. I know for a fact you love her. So where exactly is the issue?"

Booth looked at her blankly, and didn't say anything. He wasn't sure there was anything to say.

"Get over there. Screw the world, and just go over there and love her. That's what she needs right now. She's needs the father of her baby." Cam stood up, and put a hand on his shoulder. She'd done what she could, and she hadn't completely flipped out. She felt rather proud of herself. "The rest of the world doesn't care about you, and while a few mystery novel readers may care about her, if she's happy they will be, too. And if they aren't, who cares? You're only responsible to you and her. So do what's right by you. And her. We'll do lunch tomorrow."

She let herself out.

He picked up the phone.


	19. Chapter 18: The End of Infinity

"Just sit down, sweetie, I can take care of everything," Angela said, dropping Brennan's bags by the door.

Brennan glared at her friend, but made her way to the sofa just the same. The last thing she wanted was to have to go back to the hospital. As far as she was concerned she had done her time, and if she never saw the inside of a hospital again, it would be too soon. Of course, in twenty weeks she'd be back in there again, though hopefully just for a couple of days. She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly, and settled down. She knew that if Angela spotted her doing one thing she shouldn't this soon after getting home, she drive her right back. As hard as it was, the logical thing to do was to listen to her friend.

"So, do we know what's going on with Yates?" Brennan yelled to her friend, who had wandered back to the bedrooms to put everything away.

Angela stuck her head around the corner, "Arraignment was last week. Pled guilty to something like twenty counts. Man was a freak." She ducked back into the bedroom.

"I tried to get out to go to it. Although I suppose they wouldn't need my testimony. Did Booth go?" He hadn't mentioned it, but he'd been acting strange for over a week now.

"No," Angela shouted, "we knew how he'd plead before he went before the judge. I think he's planning on going to sentencing, but who knows. It's supposed to be in two weeks."

"Which I can't get my doctor approve my going to either," Brennan muttered. It was her case. Hers and Booth's, and she was removed from it. Her doctors wouldn't even let her go into the office. She was allowed to sit at her desk at home, she could read a book, watch TV, but she wasn't allowed to go into work.

"Of course not, Bren. The last thing you or the über-Brennan needs right now is additional stress. And seeing your kidnapper, your almost-murderer, the guy who almost killed your child, would be a lot of stress. You need to stay home, drink lots of healthy things and watch Colin Firth repeatedly." She plopped herself on the sofa next to her friend.

"Firstly, there is no reason to believe that my child will be any better than I am, though I will admit it is likely the child will be highly intelligent. Secondly, I don't see how seeing him will be stressful. I'll be perfectly safe in the courtroom. He can't do anything more to me," Brennan said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced herself.

"If you say so, sweetie, but come on, you have to think of the baby. What will he think if you bring him back around that guy, huh?" Angela said with a smile.

"While the fetus can hear, it certainly can't see, and won't be aware of my location. I understand the need to not overexert myself, but I won't be climbing into the backs of dump trucks at a sentencing hearing."

"Dump trucks?" Angela asked, but Brennan waved it away. Booth's concern about her climbing out of construction equipment seemed a world away now, a different life. One where she could get up and go to the restroom without getting winded, one where she didn't spend half the day being perfectly still to make sure she could feel the baby moving.

"Look," Angela said minutes later, after finding the only TV was in the kitchen, "I'm going to stay. And no, no more arguments. Jack'll take Michael over during the day, take him to the lab, and we'll sit around and watch Oprah and do absolutely nothing productive, and I'll head home in the evening. I don't want you here by yourself."

"Angela–" she started, but was cut off.

"Nope, no ifs, ands, or buts. Now sit back, relax, read a book, I'll hook your TV up out here in a minute. Right now I'm going to go make popcorn."

As Angela got up and went to the kitchen, Brennan leaned back and closed her eyes.

Angela watched the back of her head, fervently wishing that everything would just turn out okay for her friend.

* * *

><p>With a quick smile she knew the man on the other side couldn't see, Brennan hung up the phone and leaned back on the sofa. She'd only been home a few hours, but she was fairly sure she'd spoken to more people in that time than she had in three days previous. Barry had called early on, to see if there was anything he could bring her, and if it was okay if he brought her some of his wife's pie. After emphatically stating that she did not like cooked fruit, he'd assured her it was his wife's famous key lime and did not even contain real lime juice. She'd reluctantly agreed, though she told him Booth would be the most likely one to eat it.<p>

She'd expected Booth to call.

He hadn't.

Russ had called her, passing the phone around to Amy and the girls. It had taken half an hour to convince them that she didn't need to them to come up and see her. She was fine; Booth would take care of her.

She'd expected Booth to call.

He hadn't.

Her father had called. He'd been by to see her while she was up in New York, and he was still up there. He said he was mailing her some things for the baby. Wanted to know if she'd named 'him' yet. She told him they hadn't yet determined the sex of the child, that with everything else that was going on, finding out if it was a boy or girl seemed inconsequential. But that she'd talk to Booth about it.

She'd expected Booth to call.

He hadn't.

Hodgins had called for his wife. She'd left her phone in the car. He wished her all the best, and a quick recovery. She'd thanked him and handed to phone to Angela.

She'd expected Booth to call.

He hadn't.

She had just hung up the phone with Jared. Word had filtered back to him, through Rebecca to some old mutual friends, that she'd been in the hospital with Seeley. He hadn't even attempted to call his brother, saying something about hypocrisy and love she didn't understand.

They stayed on the phone for almost an hour. Jared wasn't Booth, and she still hadn't completely forgiving him for using Booth the way he had. However, the younger brother was funny and endearing, like his sibling, and it was nice to know that there was a Booth out there that had left puberty (Parker had sent her a card that had been waiting in her mail earlier that day) that cared about her.

Hanging up the phone, she wondered if she'd ever hear from the father of her child again. He'd been distant all week, but he'd gone back to work and she really hadn't thought anything of it. It hadn't even concerned her when he hadn't shown up at the hospital when she was discharged. He'd been distracted when he came by for lunch, but had clearly been excited she was coming home. She'd been in the hospital before and he'd never left work to get her then and there was no reason why the change in their relationship should change something like that.

But she'd still expected him to call.

The phone rang.

"Brennan," she answered, Angela glancing up from her book when the phone rang, and burying her nose in it again when she saw that her friend wasn't going to sprint across the apartment.

"Hey, Bones," came the slightly muffled reply on the other end. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat when she heard his voice, and she moved a hand to her abdomen to make sure the baby wasn't upset by it.

"Hey," she finally said, unable to find any other words. This was worse than when she'd gone on the book tour. Seeing him then, in the parking lot they'd later been abducted from, the awkwardness had seemed natural. Something that simply comes from not seeing someone in awhile. Now it was different, like the man on the other end of the phone was a stranger. She'd spoken to him less than ten hours before, had seen him just that afternoon, but there was something different about everything now.

"So, um, how's everything? Angela's with you?" he asked after an extended pause.

"Yeah. She won't even let me get up to make myself something to eat. I find that it is more difficult to be useless in my own home then it was while I was in the hospital. However, my overall health is good. I believe the doctor should allow me off bed-rest in the next few days."

"Not gonna happen, Bones," he said with a chuckle, "even if he says you can go back to work, between the squints and me we'll keep you safe."

And just like that, things were back to normal.

"Look," he said a beat later, "can I come over and bring you dinner or something? Just you and me? Would Angela mind if I kicked her out for a couple hours?"

"She'll be leaving this evening anyway. I don't need twenty four hour care."

Angela had put the book aside, and was listening to Brennan's half of the conversation, her smile growing.

Booth snorted, "Yes you do," he mumbled, before saying louder, "No, of course not. So, I'll swing by around seven? Italian or Thai?"

"I'm not supposed to have anything spicy. It agitates your spawn. Carlito's?" she asked, suddenly craving the rich food.

"Eggplant Parmesan? Done. Thanks, Bones."

Hanging up the phone, Brennan looked over at Angela. Her friend just shrugged and said, "Told ya so."

* * *

><p>Barry shuffled the bags his wife had loaded him down with and knocked on the door. Over the last thirty-seven years he should have learned to not bring up work stuff when he got home. He hadn't though, and over the course of the last few weeks his wife had taken his 'no, the agent and his partner are fine, we got them out alive' to her questioning why he'd flown the plane to New York and turned it into a the lengthy tale that started the day Booth had shouldered his way into his office to his meeting with them in the hospital.<p>

She had then proceeded, in typical Sandra Barry fashion, to bake a pie, collect all the kids' baby things she'd never gotten around to giving away, and make him call both of them. In one of his little acts of rebellion against his wife, the little rebellions that kept their life from becoming a fifty's sitcom, he hadn't attempted to call Agent Booth after getting a hold of Dr. Brennan.

The door was opened by Angela, who welcomed him warmly, leading him into her friend's home.

"Sweetie! Agent Barry is here, so I'm gonna run down to the store and get some milk. Save me some of that pie."

"Thank you, Angela. But you can just go home. I'm fine. Really."

Angela scoffed, but grabbed her purse and left anyway. Barry put the aluminum covered pie down on the bar and brought the bag of baby things over to Brennan.

"My wife insisted I bring these to you. It's mostly clothes, a few things left over when my first grand-baby was born. You can give 'em to Goodwill or whatever, but if I left the house without them she'd be all over me." He put the bag on the table. "So, how are you? Since I can't leave you until Angela gets back."

"As I told Angela I am more that capable of taking care of myself. I'm doing very well. Since you're here, I thought I might take the moment to ask you about the case. Angela mentioned that he pled guilty."

"For the kid, I think. We found her in the woods about a half hour or so after you were taken to the hospital. State said they'd keep from charging her with anything, juvenile court or not, if he pled out. But, I'm not supposed to talk to you about it. Can't stress you out."

"It's hardly stressful. Not knowing is much worse," she paused, "Is Francis going into care?" The thought worried her more than she'd thought it would. The girl had been a big part of almost losing her child, almost losing her own life. And yet, now, thinking of the ten year old being sent into the torture she'd been in before reaching legal maturity she wanted nothing more than to save her. She'd been saved from her murderous father, and Brennan didn't want her just to be thrown in with a new one.

"No. Her mom had a sister, in Texas or Tennessee or something. She's with a foster family until the aunt shows up, but all the paperwork's done. She'll be comfortably settled with family in some T state," he grinned at her, shrugging.

Brennan fell silent, nodding to herself. She felt better about that. It calmed something in her that had been growing for much too long. It was growing with Booth. Things had been tense between them, ever since she'd woken up in the hospital a month before. He'd called earlier, was bringing dinner that evening, but as close as things were coming back to together with them, she just wasn't sure how long it would last.

"You're thinking about Agent Booth?" Barry asked, pointing his chin at her abdomen.

She started, she'd forgotten he was there, "Yeah. He's bringing dinner."

Agent Barry had been married thirty six years, seven months, three weeks and two days. He had four children, two grandchildren, and a dog. And he could spot evasion quick as wink.

"There's more to it than that, Dr. Brennan."

"Temperance, please. No, I suppose. I believe he is having second thoughts. Logically, I believe his intention with bringing dinner tonight is to tell me. He is probably going to decide to quit the FBI, or leave. People have a tendency to leave." She whispered the last, suddenly realizing that she hardly knew the man sitting across from her. Certainly not well enough to be divulging this. She only told Booth and Angela things like this.

"Temperance, now, don't get me wrong, I don't know everything. I'm not really a part of this. But, I've seen my fair share. I've probably been married longer than you've been alive, and my wife and I, we've been through some tough times. There were times we barely made the mortgage, and I'm sure I've spent more time in the hospital with kids' broken bones and bloody noses than I care to remember. It wasn't all roses, but there is no way, no way in all the seven levels of hell that we could have made it through what you and Booth have.

"Don't let him go, Temperance. No one has ever said you have to give up without a fight." He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it once before letting go and standing up. "Think about that, okay? And send me pictures of the little one. My wife will love it."

She smiled as he let himself out.

He was right.

She'd fought for everything else in her life. She could fight to be happy.

* * *

><p>Booth passed Angela in the street, the bag of takeout swinging idly in his hand. She narrowed her eyes at him, then grinning when he balked. She waved at him, wishing him a wonderful evening with a leer. Rolling his eyes, he made his way up to Brennan's, unsure exactly what to say when she opened the door. Only, she didn't open it.<p>

"It's open!" she yelled from somewhere inside, and he let himself in.

"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked, Bones. Anyone could have walked in here," Booth said, moving into her living room, bringing the take out with him.

"Only no one did. And I'm armed."

Booth looked around her for any sign of a firearm, but couldn't see one. He sat down in the space Agent Barry had vacated a couple hours earlier. And awkward silence fell between them, and they kept glancing at each other surreptitiously. They ate in that silence, both lost in difficult thoughts, worrying that what they had to say would be the wrong thing.

Finally, after scrapping the last of the Bolognese from the bottom of the Styrofoam container, Booth spoke, "Bones, I think, I mean, what I mean to say is...,"

"I know, Booth."

"You do?" he asked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and continued, "What do you know?"

"I know what you're going to say. And...I understand. You didn't ask for this, and I'm not going to force you into it. I just want you to know that I don't want this to affect our working partnership. When the baby's born, I would like to continue working with you."

"Whoa, Bones!" Booth cried, moving from the chair to kneel on the floor beside her where she sat on the sofa. "You are so far off-base I think you may have landed on Mars."

She scrunched her forehead, confused, but finally, she nodded.

"I was going to say that I think we should make this...us...official," he held up a hand to silence her protest, "I'm not proposing. I'm not. But right now, not knowing one day to the next where we stand, I don't know if I can take it. I don't like the way people look at you now, Bones. I don't like what they're thinking."

"I hardly think you could be aware of what they are thinking. And neither how they look at me nor what they think of me has any relevance. While society does have a large impact on the creation of breeding pairs, it is not a huge aberration for a pair to ignore the disapproval of their peers. In such cases, though ostracizing is common, the pair generally feels it is only their own mental signals as the only ones of importance."

Booth stared at her blankly.

"I love you too," she finally said.

Booth chuckled, and leaned his head on her thigh. She ran a hand through his hair, shaking her head. She grinned suddenly and grabbed his hand where it lay beside her leg. She put it on her belly, where the baby, their baby, was moving. She watched his eyes, watched the same glint she'd seen all those weeks before on a sidewalk outside the hospital, light up his face. He met her gaze, a smile breaking his face. She laughed, fighting back the tears.

Infinity, she thought, goes in both directions. Love was just a collection of chemicala in the brain responding to external stimuli. The result was that happily ever after was finite.

But the universe was finite too. The way the surface of a balloon was finite. And the universe was...for lack of a better word, big.

She thought, scooting over to let Booth sit beside her, that she could deal with that.

"And they lived happily ever after," she murmured, with a grin.

The End

* * *

><p><strong>THE END! Finished. Done. Complete. <strong>

**Okay, not quite. Expect the final chapter here shortly.**


	20. Epilogue: Daughters in the Room

Prospero took a step forward, hands spread wide as he addressed the audience, "...but release me from my bands with the help of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours my sails must fill, or else my project fails, which was to please."

Brennan glanced over at her daughter as Prospero continued. Elizabeth sat enraptured, clapping wildly. Her mother smiled, shaking her head slightly. As the curtain fell she made a quick sweep of the theater, glancing at the three girls in the row behind her. The Hodgins' twins and her younger daughter appeared to have missed the entire final act. All three were scrunched close together whispering. Brennan shook her head again, and started to get up.

"Come on, girls. Get your things." She received three identical stares, then they slowly began collecting their coats from where they'd become entangled at their feet. She stood at the end of their row, waiting for them to get everything together, Elizabeth glaring up at them.

"Hurry up, numbskull," Elizabeth said, then moved into the crowd, leaving her mother and sister behind.

Brennan's first reaction was to panic, but Elizabeth wove through the crowd easily, and had made it to the door before Ariana and the twins had even made it out of their aisle. Despite knowing her daughter would be perfectly safe, and was more than old enough to be out of her sight for more than five seconds, she hurried after her the moment the other three girls were ready.

Breaking through the crowd and into the large entrance hall of the theater, she spotted Elizabeth beside her father. Jakob was in her lap, squirming wildly to be put down.

"You missed the final act," Brennan said, joining them.

"No, we just decided to stay near the door. Just in case your grandson decided he had to go potty again," Booth replied.

"He's Parker's son, so he's your grandson. Parker and I do not share any genetics, nor did Rebecca allow me to adopt him. Therefore, he is your grandson. And he acts a bit like you," she replied with a smile.

Elizabeth giggled, tickling her nephew. The toddler squealed, and tried to get away. He easily slipped out of her grasp and off the wheelchair, only to be scooped up by his younger aunt, who hooked him onto her hip.

Suddenly, Prospero showed up beside them, pulling on the Hodgins' twins' hair. Katherine and Mary reached around and tried to hit him, but he was already out of their reach. Ariana hit him for them, but he ignored her. His sisters might share a birthday with the girl, but he knew better than to start a fight with any Brennan woman.

"Hey Aunt Tempe," Michael said, tugging at his costume, "what did you think? I totally screwed up my lines in Act II, didn't I? I knew I would."

"You were amazing, Mike. Though Caliban was way cuter," Elizabeth taunted from her chair on the other side of her father. Mike glared, but otherwise ignored her.

"Anyway," he continued, "have you seen Mom? Miss Cartwright wants to see her to thank her for her help on the backgrounds. I can't even see Jackson in this mess and that boy stands about ten feet tall."

"Stanley would certainly be visible if he stood ten feet tall. However, the health complications from the bones growing to that length would mean that he probably would be unable to walk, so perhaps not. As it is, your brother is not quite 6'3", and your mother, I believe, is trying to keep him from pulverizing Peter."

"Thanks, Aunt Tempe," Michael said, having learned long ago to not explain when he was simply exaggerating. The oldest of five, he was only seven months older than Elizabeth, who would turn seventeen in four weeks. He'd often visited his 'aunt' and 'cousins', and from a young age had learned to accept Brennan's literal interpretation of almost any statement.

Despite the risks, all of Angela and Hodgins' other children were healthy, and there were a lot of them. Brennan's second child had been as accidental as the first, but only Angela's second child, Stanley Jackson, had been completely unplanned. Sometimes Brennan thought her best friend was crazy, as she did now, following Michael to where Booth had seen the woman, her husband and younger sons. Angela simply said that if she was mad, then so be it, she might get lucky and it would rub off on her kids.

They found Angela sitting between her boys, both of whom were sulking. Jack stood beside them, glowering.

"Mom!" Michael shouted, and Angela got up and congratulated her son on a wonderful performance. When she'd finally stopped talking, he continued, "Come on, my teacher wants to thank you." He grabbed his mother's hand, who grabbed Brennan's, and they were both led off toward the front doors. Booth and Hodgins followed behind with the rest of the children, both chuckling at the look on Brennan's face.

Michael pulled to a stop in front of a young woman surrounded by teenagers in costume. She came over to Michael, and shook Angela's hand. Brennan just stared.

She couldn't take her eyes off the woman talking animatedly with her best friend. The years had changed it, as surely as they had changed her, but she knew that face. She knew that woman. For a long time Brennan had thought that she had been the problem. That everything that had gone wrong could be laid at her feet. It had taken years for her to come to terms with the fact that she had simply wanted someone to blame, and this woman had been the easiest.

Over the years, after she'd come to terms with what had happened, the blame had slipped aside. The person to blame was punished, and this woman had been as much of a victim as Brennan herself had been. After Ariana had been born, the blame had turned to thanks. The logical part of her brain, the part that had asked after her all those years ago, had kicked back in. Her problems weren't to be put before this woman, her happiness was. Nothing that had happened in the intervening years, the joy she had felt, the pain, the smiles or the tears, none of it would have been without her.

Without this woman, she'd be dead.

She took a step forward, and the teacher turned. It took her longer to recognize the woman in front of her than it had taken Brennan. This woman didn't know bones the way Brennan did, the way they grew, the way the soft tissue would change over the underlying structure, and time had changed Dr. Brennan. She had crow's feet, and her laugh lines were heavily pronounced. She'd started to go gray, and years of standing over an exam table had given her a slight stoop. Perhaps, Brennan thought though, as realization finally dawned on the woman, it was simply that she wasn't tied to a bed and naked.

"I...," the woman started, but then fell silent as Booth and the gaggle of children came into view.

"Francis," Brennan said, stepping closer, fighting back tears.

"I...," she started again, her eyes falling on Elizabeth. The teen looked confused, glancing between her mother and Michael's teacher, to her father, who looked just as confused. She pushed her chair forward a little, trying to listen, but Booth grabbed the handle on the back of her chair and kept her in place. "Is she...?" the woman finally asked.

Brennan nodded, "My daughter."

Francis broke into tears, throwing herself at Brennan, forgetting the crowd that mingled in the theater's entrance. "I'm...oh I'm so sorry. I didn't… I didn't want… I'm so sorry."

Brennan rubbed a hand down the woman - who had once been a ten year old girl's - back. It was the way Angela had held her when the doctors had finally brought her the diagnosis of why her ten month old daughter still had difficulty sitting up. The diagnosis she had fought against, despised, and had grown to accept. In the early years she had often wondered what life would be like if Elizabeth hadn't been sick, if she'd been born at term, rather than at thirty-one weeks, if those thirty-six hours locked in a cabin starving to death hadn't happened, if things had been different. In the end, she'd found she loved her daughter like she was, and couldn't honestly say that for herself, she'd go back and change this if she could. She would for Elizabeth, to keep her from the pain and the surgeries and the constant stares, but not for herself. She loved her daughter the way she was.

"No," she finally told the woman who had been Francis Yates, "thank you."

They stood like that, the younger woman crying on the older's shoulder.

Michael turned to his mother when they finally broke apart, and Brennan led Francis away to meet her children. He didn't know exactly what he'd seen, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Mom?" he asked Angela, "What was that?"

Angela took her son by the arm, and nodded at her children and Jack, who followed her a step behind.

"You were much too young to remember, but when you were about three months old Uncle Seeley was given a case. He brought it to us. Aunt Tempe was already pregnant with Elizabeth, but they went to the crime scene where they found a body in a pile of sand..."

* * *

><p><strong>Special Thanks<strong>

**So, this is the end, I had a great time writing it, and would just like to say thank you to a few people who made it all possible.**

**First and foremost, The Imperfectionist, who saw me through this, and was a major reason that I even made it to the end. Thank you! Also, my husband, who put up with my shushing him repeatedly only to then ask him how he would dispose of a body, and if he thought that RVs were too small to store said body. He never even batted an eye at that, the amazing man!**

**It's been a pleasure! Now we just have to make it through the next couple weeks to find out what really happens!**


End file.
